Want You to Want Me
by IlluminatedShadow
Summary: In which Matthew is in love with Arthur and Alfred plays hero and Matthew has second thoughts about running to big brother. In which seduction and shenanigans prevail and Matthew is not the normal one in the family anymore.
1. Chapter 1

I am a horrible person who is incapable of completing things that need to be done. But, in my defense, this idea just wouldn't leave me alone. I just wanted some nice Arthur/Matthew. I hope this pleases someone as much as it pleased me to write it.

Warnings: attempted seductions, sexual content, slash, OOC-ness, language, fail

pairing: one-sided Matthew/Arthur, eventual Arthur/Matthew/Arthur

* * *

Matthew isn't quite sure at exactly what point he realized he was head over heels in love with his former guardian. But if forced to choose a certain moment, he'd have to say that it was at the last World Conference.

He had been looking for Arthur, intent on wringing out the details of the Queen's upcoming visit. The Northern nation had been a little flustered since the beginning of the conference and Gilbert ambushing him to try and finagle some maple syrup throughout the morning had only further riled him. After Alfred had accidently sat on him during one of his unfortunate moments of invisibility and then blamed him for showing off his Super Awesome Invisibility Powers (yes, because it was entirely Matthew's fault he tended to disappear from sight on a daily basis and it had nothing to do with the fact Alfred's head was so far shoved up his own ass that he couldn't see anything beyond the walls of his large intestine), it was safe to say that Matthew was in a foul mood.

He had already punched Denmark in the kidney for mentioning the Arctic (that jerk was gonna be pissing blood for at least a week, much to Matthew's glee) and even Russia gave him wide berth when he stormed past the large nation in the hallway.

Finally, the irate blond found his former guardian in the kitchen. The sandy-haired man was standing next to a teakettle, dressed in neatly pressed grey suit, tapping his patent leather shoes impatiently. The older nation's prominent brows were knit together and his sharp eyes were focused on the kettle.

"Wankers don't even know how to make a proper cup of tea." The Brit glowered. "Try to pass off that piss as Earl Grey. Earl Grey my arse."

He had yet to notice his former colony, more focused on glaring at the kettle as though his gaze—which held all the ferocity that the British Empire and a disgruntled Englishman could possess—would make the kettle boil.

Matthew cleared his throat, temper churning in his chest. He knew better than to think that Arthur would've noticed his entrance, but it still annoyed him nonetheless.

I made him tea for centuries, Matthew noted bitterly. But, schooling his features into something softer and more polite than his current expression (which, truly, was something closer to the scowl he wore during a hockey face-off), the nation of Canada cleared his throat.

Instantly, Arthur's posture straightened and he turned to face whoever had interrupted his tea making. But his every-ready frown—the one that told people that just because his knees creaked when he stood and he was an avid knitter, he could still box your ears and make you cry for your mother as he trounced your pansy ass—softened when he saw the blond standing there.

"Oh, hello my boy." He smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. Then, after a closer examination of Matthew, a vaguely concerned look flitted across his face. "Why, Matthew. You look like a right mess. You could use a cup of tea." And then he turned around, busying himself with pulling out another cup.

"I'm not Alfred, I'm Matthew!" Matthew snapped, automatically. Then he processed what Arthur actually said and a pretty pink blush blossomed on his cheeks when Arthur turned around and raised a furry eyebrow.

"Yes, you are Matthew." He said dryly. "And you still take three spoonfuls of sugar, yes?"

Wordlessly, Matthew just nodded. He thought about asking why and how Arthur remembered him this time and didn't accidently confuse himself with his brother.

He actually knew who I was, Matthew thought, completely bewildered.

"Of course I do, you silly sod." The green-eyed man snorted. "Now be a dear and get some biscuits and we'll have ourselves a proper teatime."

Somewhat dazed, Matthew complied.

When he set the plate of cookies down and Arthur handed him a steaming cup of tea, an affectionate smile on his face, Matthew felt something warm and tingling sprout in his chest and he spent the rest of the conference watching the other nation with wide violet eyes.

Of course, after that, he promptly dismissed the weird feeling as indigestion from the amount of poutine he consumed the night before (Alexandre—or Quebec as he demanded to be called when he was sulking—had made enough to feed an army and started to cry and accuse Matthew of not loving him when the nation only ate two servings). And then he put the incident out of his mind.

But at the G20 Summit, in the midst of his stress-filled near breakdowns, he had suffered the strange sensation again when he rounded a corner and jerked to a halt when he overheard Arthur saying, "Excellent work, Matthew. You always make me proud."

"I'm not Matthew, you limey bastard." Steven had growled. "Its Australia."

There was a beat of silence, before Arthur replied. "Maybe if you were more like Matthew, I'd visit more."

"I don't want you to visit more!"

And the rest of the conversation Matthew tuned out because he was too busy dealing with the giddiness and warmth that bubbled in his stomach. He was so distracted by the new feelings that he almost didn't notice Steven rounding the corner and flailing to the side to avoid hitting his host.

"Crikey, Matt." The man muttered. "Don't creep around like that, mate. You're already easy to miss."

"Sorry." Matthew said, the apology coming easily to him. "I guess I was just surprised. I thought I was the only one Arthur forgot."

His cousin just stared at him incredulously. "You pulling my leg, mate? That bloke adores you. He's always calling me and Z 'Matthew' or telling us what a darling you were." Steven grumbled, no real anger in his words. "We don't even look alike, crazy old man."

And that weird feeling exploded and Matthew had to excuse himself, one hand pressed to his warm face.

It wasn't until the Dream that he realized that maybe his feelings for Arthur were less familial and platonic and more romantic.

Because its not normal to wake up with sticky and damp boxers after a very vivid dream in which your Father nation is dressed like a pirate and you like a wench and he has you bent over the portside wall of a pirate vessel and is jerking you off to "God Save the Queen".

And, while it is true that family relations among nations is any but the mortal definition of normal (or morally sound), but there is a line somewhere buried beneath the crazy and Matthew is fairly sure he and that dream crossed it and never looked back.

However, just like he was taught (by Arthur, no less), he shoves away the dream and the weird feelings, bottling them and then forgetting the jar on a top shelf, and proceeds to keep a stiff upper lip and not a stiff, up-pointing dick.

But his self-control is slowly whittled away with each progressing dream he has (because his subconscious hates him).

And after a particular explicit dream which he'd rather not recount but will admit that he woke up moaning "Rule Britannia", Matthew is gravely concerned and realizes he is attracted to his former colonizer and that, despite popular belief, he is not the normal one in his family.

He's probably only still the innocent one because Alfred and Francis are sluts (by their own admission) and Arthur steadfastly holds masturbation marathons while Matthew at least waits until the third date to round third base.

So after that explicit dream, he does what any desperate boy does when he's faced with a seemingly hopeless crush and rampant hormones and realizes that he can't run to his parents (because one parent is the hopeless crush and the other parent will probably flip shit because he hates the other parent sometimes and secretly wanted to sex-up his son himself).

He goes to big brother.

Matthew goes to Alfred's house.

* * *

When Alfred stumbles out of his room, blond hair mussed and blue eyes squinting in the harsh lights of the kitchen and sees Matthew standing at the stove, wearing a frilly Canucks apron, flipping pancakes even as he is surrounded by towering stacks of the breakfast food with teary violet eyes, he blinks blearily and, in a sleep thick voice, asks, "Something wrong, bro?"

"I want to lick whipped cream off Arthur's eyebrows and beg him to bend me over his knee and spank me." Matthew babbles.

Alfred just blinked slowly, chancing a look at the time on the stove.

11 am.

Way to early to deal with his baby brother's daddy issues and forthcoming mental collapse, but Alfred's the goddamn hero and an awesome big brother so he trudges over to the coffee maker, stopping to ruffle Matthew's curling hair.

"You're lucky you're cute." The American muttered.

The grateful smile Matthew gives him is worth him sacrificing his first day off in a longtime.

* * *

After Alfred chugs five cups of coffee and Matthew has narrated the whole story to him (including the wet dreams), the blue-eyed nation just leans back in his chair and says, in all seriousness. "And they think you're the normal one?"

"I know." Matthew moaned, burying his face into his hands.

"You want our dad." Alfred said in awe. "Like, you want him in all his tweed and eyebrow-y glory bending you over and just pound—"

"Alfred."

"Sorry, sorry." The blond held his hands up in a placating manner. "But, I guess it's not that strange. I mean, you're still so hopelessly tied up in his apron strings. Didn't you still sleep with him until you were 120?"

"That was a stupid rumor Steven started!" Matthew defended heatedly.

Alfred looked skeptical. "Okay, sure. But, seriously, bro. I thought you'd lust after France. Not Grumpy McEyebrowPants. I thought you had better taste. You nailed Ukraine didn't you?" The other nation sighed. "But you choose Arthur to fall in love with? Duuude."

Matthew, trapped in a cyclone of self-pity and 'Dear Lord I'd rather have Arthur instead of Katyusha', just sniffed sadly.

"I came to you because I didn't know what else to do." Matthew began, lips curving into a pout. He sniffled, looking up at Alfred with distraught eyes. "But you're just teasing me."

Alfred's somewhat obnoxious smile began to slip as worry overtook his face. "Hey, hey Mattie. Don't make that face. Of course I'll help you." A somewhat manically cheerful grin rose on his face. "I'll help you seduce Iggy." He laughed loudly. "And before you know it, you two will be newlyweds and humping like rabbits in the janitor's closets during meetings." The older nation slapped the table decisively and darted away, leaving Matthew with the image of him and Arthur going at it like rabbits.

When Alfred came back, he had an armful of magazines. With an exuberant "Voila", the blond let the publications tumble onto the table, their glossy covers staring up and mocking Matthew.

'How to get your man'

'How to pleasure your man'

'Win him over by winter'

Reading over the titles, Matthew suddenly began to wonder if coming to Alfred was the smart thing to do.

When Alfred grabbed a magazine and gestured for Matthew to do the same, before flipping through the thin pages intently and with more concentration than what he displayed during important meetings, Matthew was kind of starting to think that maybe he should've just stayed home and suffered in silence.

* * *

Okay, here is my idea. In the strips, Arthur confuses Matt for Alfred once or twice. But he's immediately sorry. I like to think that because Arthur had so many brats over the years, he can't keep the names straight. Alfred, though, was one of the first to get away and is usually the first to annoy the fuck out of Arthur. That is why Arthur tends to confuse Matthew for him (that and they do look alike). But if no one corrected Arthur, he would then guess Matthew. But he also confuses other people for Matthew? Honestly, I just can't understand how one can always forget someone that close.

Next chapter? Shenanigans, people, crazy shenanigans.

So, worth continuing? (Yes, other stuff will get updated soon. -sobs- There's not enough time in the day!)


	2. Chapter 2

I'm rather fond of this idea because its cracky and I like the pairing. Thanks to everyone who expressed interest in this! You guys are great!

Warnings: language, craziness, OOC-ness, slash

Disclaimer: I claim no ownership of Hetalia or Cosmo.

* * *

"I think this'll be helpful." Alfred said excitedly, waving Matthew over. The other nation was more than happy to humor his brother, quickly dropping the magazine he was searching through.

"What is it—" Matthew stared at the pink and white website, his eye twitching as he read the title of the article. Red began to tinge his cheeks and mentally he began to count down from ten lest he smash Alfred's face into his laptop screen.

THE COSMO GIRL'S GUIDE TO ORAL SEX

Alfred paid no mind to his brother's inner turmoil as he leaned closer to the screen, eyes squinting behind steel-rimmed glasses. "Would you be adverse to swallowing, bro?"

Matthew sputtered, cheeks now a vivid shade of cherry. "Al! T-this is…I mean…he doesn't even know that I like him…that way…yet."

The other blond nodded sagely, making a thoughtful noise in the back of his throat. "Right. I'll just bookmark this for later though." Hand on the mouse, the blue-eyed nation paused. "And this one too." He clicked "What to do when he smells down below". "Iggy's an old guy. Probably smells like stale tea and moth balls." He snickered. "Heh, balls."

Matthew was contemplating fratricide. Then maybe suicide.

"Oooh~ Body language decoder."

Did his brother just _squeal_?

* * *

Three hours later, Matthew had read every single back issue of Cosmopolitan his brother had stored away (for whatever reason. Honestly, Alfred was a insane and Matthew had no desire to delve into why his brother subscribed to and saved magazines geared towards women but it might have something to do with the dresses Arthur made them wear for decades. Clearly, his newfound attraction to the Englishman and his brother's issues were all Arthur's fault. All. Arthur's. Fault.) and had brainstormed at least 136 ways to kill his brother slowly and painfully.

"Alfred." Matthew began slowly, putting aside the magazine he was staring blankly at.

Said blond glanced up from his magazine, blinking owlishly. "Yes, Mattie?"

"I hate you."

Alfred stared for a moment before smiling indulgently. "Of course you do." He cooed, reaching over and patting Matthew on the cheek.

Make that 137 ways.

* * *

Two hours later, Matthew had given up and migrated to the kitchen where he proceeded to stuff his face with the now-cold pancakes. Trapped in a haze of self-pity and regret, all the nation of Canada could think about was how stupid and wasted the day was, how he should've known better than to come to Alfred for help, and how he'd be stuck pining after his former guardian for ever and ever.

He sniffled, dabbing at his eyes with a pancake.

"I've got it Mattie!" Alfred shrieked, dashing into the kitchen with a half-crazed, half-excited glimmer in his eyes.

Matthew just stared at him, a pancake in each hand and syrup-stained lips.

Alfred's smile didn't dim. "Wow you look like shit."

Matthew's face darkened and Alfred found his self flat on the ground, pancake being shoved into his face.

#98. Death by pancake.

* * *

Ten minutes later, Alfred, glasses askew and some pancake up his nose, had managed to wrestle Matthew off him and pin the struggling northern nation to the tiled floor by sitting on his stomach.

"Fatass." Matthew muttered, violet eyes glaring venomously at that widely grinning face.

"Like I was saying before you went completely cuckoo bananas, I have a plan to help you bag Sir Eyebrows Sees-faeries-alot." His brother said breezily, either not hearing or ignoring Matthew's comment.

The pinned blond sighed, really having no choice but to listen.

"It's a little different for you, lil' brother." Alfred began in a somewhat pompous intellectual voice. "You're not trying to leave the friendzone. You're trying to leave the 'I'm technically your son and you're technically my mom or dad but I still get a funny feeling in my pants when I look at you"-zone."

"I'm going to drug you and leave you on Russia's doorstep after I beat him during our monthly hockey game." Matthew hissed. It wasn't his fault that his pants became tighter automatically whenever Arthur was mentioned. If you had as many explicit wet dreams as he had, you'd be ducking into the bathroom to jerk off too.

"Its gonna be a little trickier because its _Arthur_. I mean, if it was Frenchie, he'd be all over you like in less than a second. But, Arthur…" Alfred whistled lowly, shaking his head. "He'll probably be all like 'But I bathed you Matthew! I can't simply bugger the same tushie I powdered. How improper~'" The superpower continued, voice falsetto as he tried to mimic the Englishman's accent.

"And you're going to be naked!" The younger nation snarled, trying to buck Alfred off.

"So we're gonna need a multi-step plan. We'll need to work on your appearance—"

"What's wrong with the way I look?"

"Nothing, nothing! You look like me, of course you're a total hunk!" Alfred made a vague hand gesture. "Except your eyes are all wide and innocent and you have girly lips. And you're not as buff as me."

Matthew just glowered. He knew his features—while nearly identical to Alfred's—were a shade more feminine simply because they were slightly delicate. And he wasn't strong like Alfred. He had height and was lean and—if he didn't play hockey regularly—he'd probably be a little softer around the middle (so he let himself go a bit since the World Wars, what of it?).

"You're attractive enough. You just dress in those stupid frumpy jackets and jerseys."

"So do you!"

"Yeah, but I'm not the one trying to impress someone!" Alfred snapped, a little impatient now. "Do you want my help or not?" That meant he was starting to get annoyed. "Stage 1: Dress to impress."

Matthew bit his lip, sensing that he should probably just listen.

"Stage 2: Be aggressive. Be-e aggressive!" Alfred flashed him a silly grin that the other couldn't help but return. "You gotta start speaking up around him, spend time with him."

"And then?"

Alfred just smiled softly, tousling Matthew's locks. "Then we see where we are. If he seems to be receptive, we move forward. If not…" His smile turned a bit sympathetic and Matthew nodding, a heavy lump settling in his throat.

"I beat him up for not seeing what a total stud you are." The American winked, moving off his younger brother.

Matthew smiled a bit. "Thanks brother."

Alfred flashed a megawatt smile at him. "What're big brothers for?"

* * *

"Hmm. None of these clothes match the ones in the magazine." Alfred began, tilting his head and staring at the glossy fashion spread.

"Maybe because those clothes are for women." Matthew suggested wryly, dumping an armful of outfits onto his bed and blowing away that single errant curl that always bounced in front of his face. "And I'm male."

"Who?" Kumajirou asked sleepily, head popping up from a pile of hockey jerseys Alfred had been quick to separate from the pile.

"Me, Kumaroo." Matthew replied tiredly.

"Oh hey little buddy." Alfred said brightly, squatting down and wiggling his fingers.

The bear looked unimpressed and glanced over at his own. "Who's that?"

Alfred looked insulted. "I'm the hero! How can you not know who the hero is?"

The bear, now bored, climbed out of the pile of jerseys and lumbered towards Matthew, ignoring Alfred entirely.

"Stupid bear." The 'hero' pouted.

Kumajirou, hearing the insult and wanting to mess with the weird stranger, turned suddenly and growled fiercely, black eyes narrowed and canines gleaming in the light.

Alfred yelped, leaping on top of a chair. "Matt!"

Matthew just chuckled, bending over and cuddling Kumajirou. "Aw, Al. Kumataro didn't mean it."

"Godless killing machine." Alfred muttered, eyeing the bear with dislike. "Whales are so much more awesome."

"Lets get back to work." Matthew interrupted, putting his companion down and nudging him out of the room. "These are all my clothes."

Hopping down from the chair, the bespectacled blond gazed critically at the mostly red pile silently. Picking up a plaid shirt, Alfred 'hmmed' and tossed it over his shoulder. Picking up a pair of torn jeans, he made a quiet 'ah' sound before throwing that over his shoulder as well.

Matthew just watched, bemused, as his brother continued the action with every article of clothing until he was holding a scarlet tie. Then Alfred turned his scrutinizing gaze on him, blue eyes thoughtful. "What color are your suits?"

"Mostly black. Why—"

"No more black." Alfred shook his head. "A different color will help you stand out more."

Matthew was a little disturbed by his brother's sudden metrosexual side. This was the same guy who wore the same socks and boxers for days and sometimes didn't shower even if he had just gotten done playing football, but the feeling was quick to fade. After all, he had already learned of his brother fondness for ladies' magazines and, years ago, make-up usage ("Sometimes even the hero needs a little help!" Alfred had argued vehemently, snatching back the container of foundation.).

There was nothing wrong with it. But it'd be nice if Alfred would stop teasing him about flexibility and interest in circuses, in light of his interests.

("You're so bendy, Matt. Arthur will really appreciate that!" Alfred had purred lasciviously before breaking out into laughter.)

(Matthew unlocked Alfred's bathroom window so Mexico could sneak in later that night.)

(…And, yeah, maybe he hoped that if things went far enough between him and Arthur, that the other man would appreciate the fact that Matthew could tuck his ankles behind his head among other things.)

"How about a nice navy?" Alfred suggested. "I look good in navy."

Matthew thought for a second. He did have one that he hadn't worn in a while but that really wasn't the issue. "But what if he doesn't notice. I mean, he already mistakes me for you sometimes."

His brother looked contemplative (and yes, it was kind of unnerving). "Well, you said he recognized you that one time. Maybe he will again?"

It was worth a shot.

* * *

"Why _Mathieu_, you look positively stunning." Francis purred, draping an arm elegantly around his once colony's shoulders.

"Thanks Francis." The younger blond replied easily, used to the amorous nation's comments. According to Francis, Matthew was stunning even in a grass-stained lacrosse uniform. The nation of Canada paid no mind to Francis rambling on about a moonlight dinner and new silk bed sheets in his ear. The younger nation was far more interested in scanning the conference room for Arthur, heart beating as he yearned for a glimpse of those enormous eyebrows.

'Dear Trudeau, I do have a problem!' he wailed internally, still somewhat haunted by his desire to stroke them while sitting in Arthur's lap.

And there they were. His violet eyes widened and his heart seemed to stop as he saw Arthur storm into the room, followed closely by a skipping Alfred who flashed Matthew a thumb's up.

"Excuse me Francis." He said hurriedly, straightening up. "It was nice catching up." He added, hurrying towards Arthur.

Francis stopped, mid-word, watching his former charge rush away and approach his dearest frenemy with interested eyes.

Well, well, well.

Interest piqued, the Frenchman glided forward to watch.

* * *

"Good morning Arthur!" Matthew breathed out, violet eyes wide.

Arthur just stormed by, muttering something about idiots and upstarts. Feeling his confidence begin to waver, Matthew's shoulders slumped and he glanced helplessly over at Alfred as though to say "See? I told you!"

But Alfred just rolled his eyes and stepped forward, grabbing Matthew by the shoulder and manhandling him towards the crotchety island nation.

"Sorry in advance, Mattie." Alfred whispered, blue eyes twinkling.

"Wha-?" was all Matthew could manage before Alfred shoved him hard towards Arthur, yelling "Whoops!"

And then, the next thing Matthew became aware of, were the warm arms wrapped around him and the green eyes boring down on him.

"Okay there, lad?" Arthur asked kindly, patting him lightly on the back.

Wordlessly (and somewhat distracted by the fact that his face was smooshed against Arthur's chest and he could smell the other's favored cologne), Matthew just nodded, praying that he wouldn't notice his burning cheeks.

"Good." The sandy-haired man said simply, straightening himself and then Matthew. Idly dusting off the younger man's shoulders and then tightening his tie, Arthur smiled a little crookedly. "Now be a dear heart and sit while I go box that git's ears?"

Matthew complied, feeling giddy as Arthur zeroed in on Alfred and began to rage in defense of Matthew's honor.

* * *

I know I have unfinished stories. But I feel like I owe UK/Canada to work on this since I've only written oneshots and "Unwritten History" is currently gathering dust. Anyways, I hope this chapter was somewhat decent.

Yes, Alfred is gonna play a big part. And so will Francis~ OHOHOHOHO~ -prances away-


	3. Chapter 3

Seriously, you guys just make my day. Thanks to all!

And I'm just having so much fun with this story.

Warnings: sexual situations, slash, language, schoolgirl kink (you know who you are, and you're welcome XD)

Disclaimer: I don't deserve to own Hetalia

* * *

Matthew, in light of his recent revelations regarding his attraction to his former caretaker, is floating somewhere near the heavens during the conference because he is sitting next to Arthur and the Englishman seems to remember his existence every so often and flashes him a kind smile each time.

Its enough to make the North American nation's heart flutter and twitch like a hummingbird (or Alfred on a pixie stick high) and, as disturbed as Matthew is by the strength of these new and weird feelings, he can't help but enjoy the sensations.

On his other side, Alfred is surreptitiously texting on his iPhone under the meeting table, Blackberry balanced on his thighs and blue eyes more focused on butchering words ('LOL OMFG U R SO FUN-E' is what Matthew catches from the corner of his eye and, not for the first time, he's ashamed of being related to Alfred) than Germany's speech on new environmental policies.

Matthew sighs almost fondly, rolling his eyes and absently turning the page of the proposal Germany had passed out at the beginning, just in case Alfred ever looked up and decided to look at the outlined regulations. When he returns his gaze to where the stern European nation is addressing the group, he catches Arthur watching him with unreadable green eyes.

Suddenly nervous, he smiles, confusion tingeing the action, but the older nation just looks away, as though catching himself.

And Matthew, feeling like he's just stepped backwards since that morning, frowns and begins to sulkily doodle the NHL logos of his favorite teams.

* * *

Francis watches the trio from his spot across the table. Stubbled chin resting delicately in his palm and azure eyes hooded, he leans forward on the conference table.

America is very obviously not paying attention to the meeting, which is okay in France's opinion because the superpower is far more attractive when he is quiet and not flailing about excitedly.

Matthew—his darling—is scribbling away on a piece of paper, a sharp pout on his lips (lips that he inherited from him, to be sure).

And England—that brute—is eyeing Matthew from the corner of his eye.

Francis's lips curve into a smirk.

How glorious.

* * *

As the meeting drags on, both Alfred and Matthew doze off (it's okay though, Greece has been asleep since before the meeting and even Spain and the Italies slipped into their _siesta_) and Germany is intent on finishing his speech before any fights break out so he doesn't wake up any of the nations.

Alfred is snoring softly, head tossed back and glasses askew. Matthew has his arms pillowed on the table to rest his head and his errant curl bobs in time to his breathing.

"…Not…not the cheese fries…" Alfred muttered, nose twitching. "…Take… me instead. Leave the fries…so young…" His dreamy monologue is broken by a mighty snore and Francis thinks its time for the younger nation to try a little diet.

Matthew is absolutely quiet and Francis is reminded of the other's younger days where the boy would curl up with his bear and doze for hours near the fireplace and Francis could just forget about him as he entertained a few ladies from town and the stable boy.

He couldn't help but chuckle richly, remembering the flushed bosoms and pleasured cries.

China, who had the misfortune of sitting next to Francis, scooted away with a wary look on his face.

_

* * *

Matthew stood, a little terrified and incredibly still, staring at the other man's back._

_A quick downward glance revealed that he was dressed in a red and black plaid skirt and a starched white shirt, unbuttoned to reveal pale skin. Knee high white socks and Mary Janes complete the look and, stomach plummeting, Matthew realizes his hair is in pigtails._

"_Really?" He muttered. "I miss being normal."_

_It is then that the man turns around, green eyes studying him imperiously and arms folded behind his back._

_Matthew blanches, taking in the sight of Arthur in a three-piece tweed suit (elbow pads and all) and bowtie._

"_You've been a naughty boy, haven't you Mr. Williams?" Arthur asks with a sly smirk and Matthew feels a shudder of desire down his spine. _

_The Englishman steps forward, casually taking a ruler from the large oak desk. Continuing his journey, the sandy-haired man moves closer and closer until he is directly in front of Matthew. _

_The younger blond just stares at the other, violet eyes wide._

"_It is rude to stare, Mr. Williams." Arthur chides, voice low. "And to not answer when spoken to."_

"_I'm sorry, sir." Matthew whispered, voice catching in his throat._

"_You've been rather naughty, haven't you boy? Teasing the other boys…" Arthur begins and Matthew can't hold back the moan that bursts from his lips, and just seems to hang in midair for a moment, when he feels the edge of the ruler run against the inner curve of his thigh. "All tarted up…Dressed like a cheap whore." Arthur's eyes are dark and his voice husky. "Inducing improper thoughts…seducing law-abiding gentlemen…"_

_The ruler travels farther up, pushing up the skirt as it inches upward, smacking lightly ever so often against tender skin._

"_You've been such a bad boy."_

_And Matthew can only whimper in agreement, blood rapidly rushing south and dragging his reasoning skills with it._

"_And you need to be punished." Arthur finishes, a wicked grin on his lips as he presses the ruler firmly against Matthew's hard-on and the younger nation's knees almost buckle._

"_Please…" Matthew murmurs, pushing away all thoughts of the strangeness of his fantasies and realizations of how perverted he really was, far more interested in Arthur who was now leaning closer and closer and—_

* * *

"Matthew. Wake up lad." Arthur said firmly, shaking the slumbering blond.

"Please…" Matthew mumbled, hands clenching and unclenching, a rather fetching blush adorning his cheeks.

Arthur blinked before coughing roughly and going back to shaking his former colony.

"Whozzat?" Alfred cut in sleepily, drool staining the corner of his mouth. "World peace? Robots? I concur."

"Git." Arthur snapped, giving Matthew another hard shake. "Your brother won't wake up."

The blue-eyed nation looked confused before his eyes landed on Matthew and comprehension flickered. "Oh, yeah. Mattie is a pretty heavy sleeper." Smacking his lips, he reached for his near-empty soda cup. "Try grabbing his junk. That always wakes him up."

Arthur just stared hard at other former colony. "I am not grabbing Matthew's genitals and I'm appalled that you think that's a suitable way to wake up a person."

Alfred rolled his eyes as though Arthur was an uncool loser and Alfred had to spoon-feed him everything. "Well it does work. But since you're such a prude—poor Mattie's got his work cut out for him—then pull his earlobe."

"And you didn't suggest that first why?"

Alfred just shrugged, indolently slurping the rest of his drink.

"Isn't he just precious?" Francis cooed, popping up between the two nations, causing Alfred to choke on his soda and Arthur to curse. "Can I wake him up?" He asked, fingers already twitching towards the sleeping man.

"I've already tried." Arthur snapped, feeling familiar rage rise at the sight of his longetime on and off again friend/enemy.

Francis looked perplexed. "But he always wakes up when you grab his _zizi_."

"Told you." The American nation added with a self-righteous 'humph'.

Clearly, America did inherit some unsavory traits from France. Well, that ungrateful bastard did make his choice back in 1776.

Arthur looked disgusted. "What the bloody fuck is wrong with you two? You don't just grab a man's prick." He scowled, reaching down and tugging on Matthew's earlobe.

Instantly the nation of Canada jerked up.

"Not the paddle!" He gasped, face flushed. Noticing that he was still in the conference room, the nation relaxed, breathing deeply. Then he realized that his 'family' was all staring at him.

Alfred had an obnoxiously knowing smirk even as he gnawed on the straw of his drink.

Francis looked proud.

Arthur just looked confused. "Paddle?"

Matthew stared at his former guardian, searching for words to make this less awkward than it was quickly becoming. But all he could think about was kneeling in front of a ruler-wielding Arthur, forehead balanced on his forearm and moaning like a well-practiced whore with each strike of the ruler against his bare ass.

In the end, he settled for a subdued shriek before he sprinted out of the conference room, cheeks burning as he yelled "Sorry" over his shoulder.

* * *

"Naughty schoolgirl fantasy? It was, wasn't it?" Alfred asked, a knowing grin on his lips.

"Go die." Matthew snarled, curled around a pillow in his hotel room, resolutely ignoring the blond enjoying his torment over in the desk chair.

"You are really attracted to him." Alfred continued, completely oblivious to his brother's anger and embarrassment. "It's the eyebrows, I'm guessing. I suppose they are kind of hot in an overgrown, gross way."

"I will cut you."

"I guess it's a good thing he didn't actually grab your dick. How awkward would that've been?"

"And I can't believe you told him that!" Matthew wailed, squeezing the pillow. "I hate you!"

Alfred looked somewhat abashed at that, sheepishly rubbing the back of his head. "Sorry Mattie."

The two sat in silence for a few minutes, Matthew seething and Alfred thoughtful.

Sure, he didn't really understand his brother's attraction. He knew it would happen sooner or later (after all, Matt chose Arthur over him and still defended the stuffy Brit to this day), he was just waiting for Matthew to realize it.

Unfortunately, it wasn't until erotic dreams that Matthew would realize he felt something less platonic towards someone. Alfred supposed that was a good thing, something the other blond trained himself to do after watching Francis seduce anything with a hole and pulse.

One might assume he was jealous and maybe in another time, had things been different, he would be. But he burned that bridge a long time ago and special relationship or not, there would never be that same degree of closeness between him and Arthur.

And he loved his brother and wanted to see him happy and if old men made Mattie happy, who was he to judge?

At least it wasn't Cuba, America noted with satisfaction. Or Holland.

"You don't get laid often, do you?"

"God you're tactless." Matthew huffed, rolling over and leveling a venomous glare at his brother. "And yes, I get laid often enough." He made a face. "Just not recently. Olympics and back-to-back meetings, you know. Oh and the protests."

"That explains the kinktastic dreams. I'm impressed though. I thought you'd be way more vanilla bro." A sly grin crept across his face. "I bet you were in a skirt."

Matthew threw the pillow at Alfred.

* * *

"Invite _Mathieu _for lunch." Francis demanded, cornering England in the lobby just as the green-eyed man was about reach the elevator. "Here is the restaurant. You have a reservation under Bonnefoy. I have told them to charge my account." Hand on his waist, the Frenchman glared at the other nation with unimpressed eyes. "Try to look less frumpy and please don't embarrass me by ordering the cheapest thing on the menu."

Arthur just gave him an incredulous look.

"Just do it." Francis snapped, throwing his hands up. "I am surrounded by blind fools."

* * *

"Oh, if it isn't the Iggster." Alfred announced, leaning against the doorframe. "What's crackin'?"

"Every time you speak, the English language just commits suicide." Arthur sniffed haughtily. "Where is Matthew?"

Alfred tilted his head, a frustrated frown on his face, and pointed next to him where Matthew stood, resigned.

"Oh, dreadfully sorry my boy." Arthur said quickly, feeling guilty when Matthew just shrugged.

"Not the first time, Arthur." The younger blond said quietly. "Can I help you?"

"Would you care to…join me for lunch?" The Englishman asked, proud when he didn't stumble over the words.

Matthew's face lights up and he positively beams when he says, "Of course."

"Can I come?"

Immediately, both Matthew and Arthur answer with a resounding "No."

* * *

After excusing himself to dress and Alfred slamming the door in the island nation's face, Matthew begins to rummage through his clothes frantically.

"I have nothing to wear!" He says, hysterically, whirling around to face Alfred—

—who is holding a pair of khaki slacks and a scarlet polo.

"And the hero saves the day again." Alfred is grinning as he tosses the clothes and Matthew thinks he should probably buy Alfred a year's supply of cheesy puffs or an autographed Justin Bieber CD (he knows his brother has a shrine to the young star in his closet right next to his mini sequined statue of Lady Gaga).

Before Matthew rushes out the door, Alfred grabs him and holds up a tiny black earpiece and camera.

"This is a perfect chance to chat him up and maybe…" Alfred trails off suggestively, waggling his eyebrows.

Matthew would punch him, but he thinks that maybe the extra help wouldn't hurt since Alfred hasn't ruined things yet.

So he takes the tiny thing and smiles when he hears Alfred wish him good luck, voice audible only to Matthew.

* * *

"Damn it Matt. At least be seductive about it." Alfred hisses and Matthew refrains from throwing his knife in the general direction of where Alfred is hidden (for once the blond is putting his dusty spy skills into use).

Maybe Alfred can eat duck seductively, but he has yet to master that particular skill.

"Drag the fork slowly out of your mouth."

"Are you enjoying the food, Matthew?" Arthur asks, addressing the younger nation for the first time since the food arrived.

Not they had chatted much before ordering. Matthew had been too busy staring at the tablecloth and Arthur had been too nervous.

It didn't help that every single table around them was filled with couples.

"Yes, its delicious." Matthew replies, eyes focused on the piece of duck he was spearing with his fork. He takes Alfred's advice, delicately forking the morsel into his mouth and slowly dragging out the fork, tongue flicking out against the tines.

Arthur is too busy cutting his steak.

"Fail." Alfred mumbled.

Matthew sighs, then catching the other man's attention.

"Matthew?" Arthur asks, wondering if the younger nation is just bored and only agreed to come out of politeness.

When Matthew just shakes his head and takes a silent sip of his wine, Arthur starts to think that maybe this was all a stupid idea and Francis's attempt to embarrass him by reminding him that he's boring and even Matthew—one of the few to stand by him even now—can't be bothered to make nice anymore.

"Its been a long time that we've done this." Arthur began, apologetically. "You'll have to forgive me, I'm a bit out of practice."

Matthew looks surprised, then. "There's nothing to forgive Arthur."

"My dear boy." Arthur smiles a tad bitterly at the other's words, feeling that easy surge of affection that Matthew always brought in him. "You don't need to lie. I haven't always treated you like you deserve."

"That's an understatement." Alfred mutters.

Matthew says nothing, sipping his wine thoughtfully. "No, no you haven't." He's always been honest, in a way or another. "But you still try." He gives Arthur a genuine smile, reaching across the table and pressing his fingers onto the other's hand.

"I'll do better." Arthur promises, taking Matthew's hands and pressing a kiss against the other's knuckles.

"Oh, he's smooth for an old guy." Alfred whistles, thoroughly impressed.

Matthew nods in agreement, face heating up.

* * *

Matthew may look sweet and unassuming, but he was raised by France. XD Any more ideas for Matthew's wet dreams?

I hope you all enjoyed this chapter!


	4. Chapter 4

Thanks for all the support and ideas! You guys rock! Here's an extra long chapter, just for you. Enjoy~

Warnings: slash, sexual situations, language, OOCness,

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.

* * *

"_I saw you looking at me, in the crowd, those bloody eyes practically begging me to shag you." Arthur leans forward, voice gruff. "Nearly knocked me off the count, wanker."_

"_I'm…sorry?"_

"_How about it then?" The guitarist asks ignoring his words, nonchalantly snubbing his cigarette into the overflowing ashtray. With a rakish smile, the musician just looks at him—green eyes dark with lust and humor, as though he knows exactly what effect he has on Matthew. Leaning back, the man just continues to smirk, sensual and scorching, legs spread apart, arms lazily thrown onto the back of the ratty couch._

_Matthew just swallows roughly, unable to tear his indigo eyes away from the long legs clad in black leather, glistening under the dim lighting. Lazily dragging a hand through untamed sandy spikes, Arthur's grin widens—revealing more of his teeth—knifelike and dangerous and the Canadian would be a dirty, filthy, lying bastard if he said it didn't turn him on._

_Running one hand down his bare chest, the skin pulled taut as he leans back, gaze never leaving his, and the Brit finally rests his hand on his crotch, fingers tapping impatiently against the bulge. "We'll make some gorgeous music, luv."_

_Matthew's hands tighten around his backstage pass, the sharp edges digging into his palm and he feels a bead of sweat roll down the nape of his neck. "I don't think—"_

"_That's just it, poppet." The guitarist laughs throatily. "You don't need to think. Just slip on over and take a seat." He pats his thigh. _

"_That's okay." Matthew says brightly, nervously twirling a strand of his hair (its not like he expected the guitarist of the band to call him out and offer to sex him up after the concert), missing the heated gaze that locks on the gesture. "I—"_

"_Come here." Arthur orders, voice daring Matthew to disobey._

_And Matthew, who has a poster of this man above his bed and who jerks off to his solos, wouldn't dare disobeying because it has only been his desire to touch his idol and now his idol is offering so much more and only a complete and total idiot would pass up this moment, walks up to the man, allowing himself to be tugged down into the older man's lap._

_And Arthur wastes no time burrowing his calloused fingers into Matthew's soft hair, lips already pressed against his and tongue nudging at the seams. When his hands tug teasingly at Matthew's locks and the boy breaks the kiss, gasping at the spark of heightened pleasure, the musician chuckles against the corner of the blond's mouth. "Fuck, pretty boy, you play nicer than my Gibson."_

_Matthew is flushed and thrumming with need and he grasps the other's shoulders and scoots forward, grinding down against the musician and drawing out a shuddered groan from the man below._

"_That's more like it luv." Arthur gifts him with a kiss on his chin. "Tell daddy what you want." He coos before sucking hard at Matthew's skin, hands gripping the other's waist._

"_Fuck me, daddy." Matthew moans, trembling in delight when Arthur's gaze darkens and his grip on the younger man tightens and the next thing Matthew realizes is that he's on his back on the couch and above him—_

—Is not Arthur but Alfred with an enormous shit-eating grin on his stupid face.

"Oh daddy~" His brother moans, blue eyes fluttering shut as the other blond purposely raises the pitch of his voice. "Fuck me now~ I need your coc—"

Matthew, notes with no small sense of satisfaction that Alfred's nose cracks under the force of which Matthew swung the pillow and that his brother's face smacks against the corner of the nightstand in the suite.

"SWEET BABY JESUS!" Alfred shrieks, cupping his nose with both hands, a bruise already blossoming under his eye. The nation glares up at Matthew accusingly, blue eyes watering.

Matthew, though already feeling guilty, just looks away with indifference, already adjusting his bed sheets to shield his morning wood.

"Whoever said that you were the nice one..." Alfred begins, voice hampered by his hands. "…was retarded. You're a douchecanoe, bro."

"How did you even get in?" Matthew demanded, ignoring his brother who was now going on about how Matthew was evil and how he was no longer a sidekick candidate and how he could no longer enter Alfred's clubhouse or use his underground bunker during the Zombie Apocalypse.

"I hope they eat your brains first." Alfred pouts, pulling his hands away and whipping out his pocket mirror. He frowned, poking at his nose tentatively and then the bruise. "And I stole your spare card key. Duh."

Matthew sighed, falling back against the mattress. "That's really creepy, brother."

"You'll thank me when I save you from those ninja assassins or Russia when he's lonely."

There really was no point in arguing. After all, it wasn't as though Matthew didn't have Alfred's house bugged.

After finding out about the other's plans to invade him in case of war with England years ago, the nation of Canada decided it was better to be safe than sorry.

Plus, now he had at least a dozen albums filled with material to tease Alfred with for decades.

"By the way, you have some serious daddy issues little brother." Alfred sighed. "You've got it bad."

"I know, I know."

The blue-eyed nation pushed his self off the floor and sat on the bed, nudging and poking and whining until Matthew grudgingly scooted over and let Alfred curl around him.

"He loves you a lot." Alfred said softly. "I wouldn't even use you in theoretical battle plans against him if I thought you were unimportant to him. I think we just need to get him to realize it." He rubbed the bridge of his nose thoughtfully. "We need to be aggressive."

"We need to make sure he'd be receptive." Matthew added.

The North American brothers were silent for a moment before they both said, in identical flat tones. "But he's dense."

* * *

"How was the date?" Francis asked excitedly, ambushing Arthur in the restroom of the hotel lobby before the meeting. The Englishman, who was zipping up his trousers, jerked forward, snarling a vulgar epithet at the nosy Frenchman, hands protectively covering his crotch.

"For the love of the Queen, can't a man piss without being molested?" Arthur snapped, face reddening in anger.

Francis rolled his eyes, stepping back as Arthur moved towards the sink, still muttering obscenities under his breath.

"The date, _cher._" Francis said again, boredly studying his manicured nails. "Lunch with _Mathieu._"

"I ordered the cheapest steak." Arthur said smugly, earning a glare from Francis.

"I enjoy eating there, _connard._" The blond stomped his foot. "I can never go back now. You ruin everything."

Arthur responded dryly. "It's a gift, really." He turned off the tap, grabbing a paper towel.

Francis rolled his eyes. "And _Mathieu_?"

The sandy-haired man paused, eyes flickering downward then he brightened, the image of said nation returning to memory after a brief struggle. "Oh, yes, Matthew. The dear boy had duck."

"_Et_?" The Frenchman looked expectant.

Arthur stared at him in confusion. "We ate and came back to the hotel. What else do you want me to say?"

Francis looked incredibly disappointed. "You did not hold hands? No kissing in the park? No ******-"

"Good lord, man!" Arthur whirled around, a scandalized glare set on his face. "What the bloody fuck is wrong with you? He's like a son—"

"No." Francis said sharply. "Alfred—as much as you deny it—is like a son to you." His azure eyes were shrewd. "You do not look at Alfred the way you look at Matthew."

The air thickened, Arthur glaring at Francis, hands knotted in the paper towel.

"Rubbish." He said icily.

And immediately Francis saw and he changed his tactics accordingly.

He was skilled at that, you know.

Body relaxing, the blond chuckled amusedly. "Of course. I was teasing, _mon lapin_. But, you have not been spending as much time with Matthew lately. You're playing favorites again."

"Hardly." Arthur snorted, shoulders less tense.

Francis smirked. "If I hadn't forced you to go have lunch with him—"

"You haven't been able to force me to do anything for _years_—"

"—then you admit you felt guilty for forgetting _Mathieu_—"

"—I didn't forget you twat—"

"—_tu as oublié—_"

"—enough with that blasted language of yours—"

The two devolved in a round of bickering and were, subsequently, late for the conference.

But Arthur, though he'd never admit it aloud, knew Francis was right.

And Francis? Well, he's usually right about these things.

* * *

"Flower language!" Matthew said suddenly, straightening and grabbing Alfred's elbow excitedly. The other blond looked up from his Blackberry though didn't stop in his lazy chewing of the handful of French fries he had just stuffed into his mouth.

"..eh?" He mumbled around the potato, cheeks plump with fries.

"Arthur was really into it, way back." Matthew said excitedly, for once overlooking his brother's eating habits. "You know, using flowers to send a message. Red roses meaning a declaration of love and so on."

Alfred's face was blank for a moment longer before understanding dawned in his eyes. Then excitement began to blossom in his eyes and he, with some difficulty, swallowed the load of French fries in his mouth. "You're a genius Mattie!" He ruffled the other nation's hair affectionately. "Lets go."

"Now?"

"When else? Besides, I'm all out of fries." Alfred wiggled the empty, greasy carton in front of Matthew's face in emphasis. "Besides, its not like anyone will notice that you're not here nor will they care if I leave."

Matthew sighed. He was pretty invisible.

* * *

"Excuse me Miss?" Alfred said charmingly, flashing a bright smile at the pretty young woman behind the counter at the florist's. "My brother and I need some help. We need a bouquet that says 'Please pin me to the nearest hard surface and fuck me so hard that I can't walk straight for a week'."

The pretty young woman blinked in bemusement, smile seemingly frozen. "Umm…?"

Matthew, who was searching through the roses with a critical eye, groaned and rolled his eyes heavenward. "I'm a good nation, right? I don't get into stupid wars, I play nice. Yet you still punish me?"

"Then how about one that just says 'Fuck me'?" Alfred asked. "No? Then something that says 'I love you. Do you love me?'"

"Well, is this a confession? Or assurance?"

"Um, confession." The blond said confident. "And if we could throw in some flowers that say fu—"

"I understand, sir. You want to make sure the receiver knows that an invitation for intercourse is issued." The young woman said, a rosy flush on her cheeks.

Finally, after a few more choice words to the heavens, Matthew marched over to the desk and grabbed Alfred's arm, giving the young woman an apologetic look. "Its alright, Miss. I've already decided the flowers." Then with a sidelong look at Alfred, the slender blond began to drag his brother over to the brightly colored blossoms.

"I can't take you anywhere." He grumbled, fingers tightening around Alfred's arm. "If I was capable of having children, I still wouldn't because I'm terrified they'll end up like you—"

"Totally awesome and hot?"

"Irresponsible, shameless, nosy, creepy, tactless, and annoying." Matthew huffed, feeling a rant rise in his chest. Maybe he could go for four hours this time.

But then Alfred sniffled, a hurt look on his face.

"And totally awesome and hot." Matthew sighed, violet eyes softening. "And capable of moments of breathtaking brilliance in between the phases of stupidity."

"I love you too Mattie." Alfred chuckled, eyes suspiciously pink. "Now what did you choose?"

"Primroses." Matthew began, ghosting his fingers over the delicate blossoms. "Silent love. Or red tulips, a declaration of love."

* * *

Francis quickly hid his grin behind a hand when he entered the conference room the next morning to see Arthur marveling at a lush bouquet of deep red tulips in his assigned seat (Germany having assigned seats after Romano somehow ended up next to Francis and threw a bitch fit of epic proportions and nearly started a war between the two countries.)

"Oh ho ho~" He grinned, brushing back his blond hair. "_Je suis fier. Tres bien, mon chou."_

From the corner of his eye, he saw Alfred patting Matthew on the back, tugging the blond close and mussing up his hair, both young nations wearing bright smiles.

Glancing back at Arthur, he noticed the Englishman watching the display, his sharp eyes catching something in the other's face fall infinitesimally before the sandy-haired man looked back at the tulips.

"Looks like you still need Papa's help, _petit._" Francis shook his head. "_Tous ces hommes—imbéciles._"

* * *

"Now you just gotta bust a move, Matt!" Alfred said excitedly. "And before you know it, it'll be bom chicka wah wah!" He shook his hips with each word. "And then we can go back and pick out sex tips from Cosmo and get you manscaped and then you can and Arthur can play out your dirty little fantasies all night loooonnggg~"

"…And just when I decided to not leave you at Russia's mercy."

"You say something?"

"Nope, of course not."

* * *

"One comment and I'll castrate you, frog, and there's no guarantee it'll grow back." Arthur said calmly, bouquet in hand as he excited the conference room, Francis skulking behind him.

"It seems you've got a secret admirer." Francis noted slyly. "Any idea who?"

"As if I'd tell you. You gossip more than an housewife." Arthur responded brusquely, heading towards the elevators.

"Is there anyone who you want it to be?"

"Fuck off."

"Is he cute?"

"Belt up." Arthur snapped, flushing. "And what makes you think it's a 'he'?"

Francis threw him a look. "Are you still that close to India? I did not think so."

"Its really none of your business, git." Arthur grumbled, furry eyebrows knitting together.

"He deserves so much better." Francis lamented, azure eyes unable to tear away from those beastly eyebrows. "At least someone well-groomed." He poked at the brow, nose wrinkling in disgust.

And that sparked another argument between the two European nations.

* * *

"Oh. Francis. Arthur."

The soft voice caught the attention of both nations, effectively ending their lengthy bickering.

"_Mathieu! Mon bébé._" Francis cooed, throwing his arms around the younger nation. "You look so lovely." He lovingly caressed the nation's pale cheek, taking in the sight of his former colony dressed in dark jeans—well-fitted too, the Frenchman noted in pleasure, eyeing the way the denim clung to Matthew's lean legs—and a dark green sweater. "You're always hiding in those atrocious sweat-things. You might as well be running about in a sack." Francis scolded, cupping Matthew's face and tapping his nose sternly.

Turning to Arthur, who was quiet, the older nation asked, holding back a smirk, "Doesn't he look stunning?"

Coughing awkwardly, Arthur shuffled his feet and glanced at Matthew before looking away. "Absolutely fetching, my boy. A very sensible sweater, that is."

"You gave it to me." Matthew said softly, violet eyes looking only at Arthur.

At this, Arthur looked at Matthew, eyebrow raised. "…I did…didn't I?" He murmured. "I'm surprised you wore it."

Francis looked impressed. "So your designers aren't a fluke?"

Before Arthur could snap back, Matthew cleared his throat. "I like this sweater." He smiled shyly at Arthur who returned the gesture, eyes affectionate.

The trio was quieted, but before the silence could become too oppressive, Matthew cautiously cut in. "I'm about to meet Alfred for dinner. You guys are more than welcome to come along."

"Where?" Francis asked suddenly.

"Well, I asked him to meet me there but—"

"Then you two go." Francis interrupted, casually shoving Arthur (after snatching the tulips) towards Matthew. "I will wait for him and we shall meet up with you soon."

Matthew glanced at Arthur, visibly hesitating until Francis made a shooing motion with his hands.

"If you insist…" He trailed off, wanting to be alone with Arthur but still not quite sure about leaving his brother alone with his near-constantly horny father figure.

"Lets just go, Matthew." Arthur said firmly, grabbing the younger nation's hand and leading him away as Francis grinned victoriously.

* * *

"_Yes, Mr. Williams, I do believe there is a place for you here in Parliament." Arthur chuckled, cupping the younger man's face and pressing his thumb against the blond's plump lower lip. "And I daresay a boy as patriotic and dedicated and skilled as you will have no problem getting elected either." He chuckled softly to himself, tucking a strand of curling hair behind Matthew's ear._

_Matthew hummed lightly around the man's member in response, dragging a husky moan from the politician. _

* * *

Arthur watched Matthew with concern, inwardly torn between admiring the other's red blush—red like the roses of England—and checking to see if the younger nation was ill.

"Matthew?" He ventured, noting with confusion the way the glazed look in the other's face vanished and was replaced with embarrassment. "Are you alright, lad?"

"M'fine." Matthew mumbled, rubbing his face tiredly. "I'm actually not that hungry, Arthur."

The Englishman stopped walking, immediately turning and resting the back of his hand against the other's forehead. "You're not feverish."

"I'm just not hungry." Matthew admitted. "I'll call Alfred and Francis and let them know."

Arthur nodded, somewhat disappointed in the turn of events but Matthew honestly didn't look well. As the younger nation made the calls, Arthur sighed and looked around, spotting an ice cream vendor across the street.

Wordlessly, the older nation hurried towards the vendor, catching him just before the other turned a corner.

"Arthur?" Matthew called out, trying not to feel bad when the other ignored him. "Yeah, sorry, Al. I can't go through with." He paused, listening to his brother's outburst. "What? He's buying ice cream I think. No, I can't. Because I keep thinking about his dick." He frowned, violet eyes frosting over. "Stop…stop laughing Alfred…" Rolling his eyes, he hung up on the other nation who was nearly dying with laughter.

Just in time, too, because Arthur was making his way back with two popsicles in hand.

Unfortunately, Arthur walked right past him before stopping in confusion. "I swore I left him right here…" The man wondered, puzzled.

"Arthur." Matthew sighed.

"Sorry Matthew." Arthur apologized, doing a double take when he turned. He handed over a popsicle with a small smile. "You'll feel better."

Warmth bubbling in his stomach, the younger blond took the icy treat and unwrapped it, happily popping it into his mouth and sighing in contentment.

Of course, when he opened his eyes and saw Arthur and realized he had a mouthful of a delicious, but phallic-esque shaped treat, he choked.

"_Yes, just like that." Arthur whispered, lifting his hips up and encouraging Matthew to swallow more. "That's my boy."_

Matthew was inwardly sobbing. "Why me?" He sniffled, thankful that Arthur was too busy looking away.

"Lick it before putting it in your mouth." Francis's voice sounded from his ear and Matthew nearly jumped.

"Yo, Mattie." When Alfred's voice was heard, Matthew realized that, at some point, he had been bugged. "Listen to Pervy-pants."

Matthew ignored them, content just to eat his popsicle in peace.

"DAMN IT MATT, BE SEXY." Alfred shrieked.

"For once, I agree." Francis added. "You're wasting your sex appeal."

And realizing he would never, ever get peace, Matthew sighed and pulled out his popsicle with a little pop.

"Alright there?" Arthur asked.

"Yeah." Matthew mumbled, the palest of blushes dancing across the bridge of his nose as he stared at the icy treat.

It was raspberry, his favorite.

A surge of love for the man next to him shook him and strengthened his resolve. With a deceptively innocent smile at Arthur, Matthew gave the popsicle an experimental lick at the bottom. Attention now on the popsicle, the blond gave the ice a long lick up the side, red tongue dragging up slowly. Mouthing the tip, Matthew pursed his lips slightly and sucked, making a happy noise when the tangy juice hit his tongue.

And Arthur? Well, his green eyes were locked on the sight.

Taking more of the popsicle into his mouth, Matthew sucked a little more forcefully, cheeks tugging inwards with the effort.

"Take it in deeper." Francis hissed.

Challenge accepted. Matthew slowly drew the treat back into his mouth, wrapping his lips around the quickly disappearing snack.

Arthur coughed uncomfortably, glancing back at his melting popsicle but chancing looks at Matthew.

"Go Matt go!" Alfred cheered. Unfortunately, in his excitement, he managed to dislodge his own microphone and a shrill, scraping noise resounded loudly in Matthew's ear, causing him to gasp and jerk and accidently take too much of the treat in one go.

In short, he gagged, biting down on the popsicle and started coughing, face turning red as he bent over, hand on his throat.

"Epic fail." Alfred whispered, Francis tsking as well.

Matthew, even as his eyes watered, swore to hurt Alfred later.

Arthur, at first sign of the other's distress, jumped up and began to rub and pat Matthew's back, comforting the nation with soothing and gentle words. "Perhaps it'd be best if we just headed back? I'll make you a nice cup of tea." Secretly, he was thankful and decided that maybe he wouldn't buy Matthew popsicles. Ever. Again.

Matthew, still coughing and a little humilated, nodded reluctantly.

* * *

...I feel so dirty now... -hides under blanket-

French:

_tu as oublié = _you forgot

_Je suis fier. Tres bien, mon chou = _I am proud. Very good, my chou (cabbage, if I remember right)

_Tout ces hommes—imbéciles. = _All these men-idiots.


	5. Chapter 5

Warning: language, sexual situations, OOCness, some other things I'm forgetting

Pairing: eventual Arthur/Matthew

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.

* * *

"So…you know?" Alfred asked casually and a little warily as he eyed Francis from where he was sitting in an armchair near the door, lest the Frenchman start to strip and he need a head start.

Francis gave him a patronizing look. "I am the nation of love, stupid boy. And it's _Mathieu._ How could I not know?" He sighed, elegantly tucking a shining lock of hair behind his ear. "Honestly, lose a few battles here and there—"

"Dude. You fell in like eight weeks—"

"—and everyone thinks you're an invalid." Francis continued, ignoring the superpower.

Alfred rolled his eyes and settled back to watch the newly returned pair on the laptop screen as Francis continued to bemoan the way he was underestimated now and how wonderful it had been under Louis-thesomethingsomething and blah blah blah—the guy was worse than drunk Arthur sometimes—Alfred totally tuned out his bitching, more interested in the way screen Matthew was checking out Arthur's ass as the other set a kettle to boil.

* * *

"I'm afraid this is the best I could do, my boy." Arthur said briskly, a note of apology in his voice, as he set down the steaming cup of tea in front of Matthew. "Three cubes of sugar and a bit of milk as always, Martin?"

"Matthew." The Canadian said softly, violet eyes fluttering to stare at the murky liquid.

Arthur flinched minutely, slowly moving back after putting down the teacup. "Of course, Matthew. Right."

"Its okay, Arthur." Matthew said, the comfort falling easily from his lips even as his heart clenched painfully.

Of course, it was so stupid to think that Arthur would remember. Those past times he did must have been flukes. Why would he ever remember quiet, meek little Matthew?

Stuck in his self-loathing thoughts, the blond very nearly missed his former guardian's next words.

"—difficult to keep track of you lot. That's a piss poor excuse and it doesn't make anything okay." Arthur said quietly, back to Matthew as he poured his own tea. "That Dutch tosser remembers your name and I bloody well should be able to—I've known you longer, after all."

"Its fine. Really, Arthur."

"It bloody well isn't." The Englishman said heatedly, green eyes sharp as he looked over his shoulder. When Matthew flinched, he sighed and continued in a softer voice. "You're too forgiving of me, luv." He turned back to his teacup. "I wouldn't blame you if you were to simply snap and chew my bloody ear off." Turning, he smirked a tad evilly at his former colony. "Saw you do it often enough to your brother."

Matthew sniggered, remembering how cathartic it had been to make Alfred cry. Even though his boss scolded him afterwards and threatened to confiscate the television set in his office he used to watch hockey during late nights at the Parliament, it was totally worth it.

* * *

"Dick." Alfred said indignantly. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Francis perk up, eyes glinting, and so the younger nation was quick to shout, "Don't you dare Frenchie!"

He didn't look away until the amorous blond had slumped back with a pout.

* * *

"Its okay Arthur." Matthew said, a forgiving smile slipping onto his lips as the other sat down with his own cup of tea. "I suppose I'm not really all that memorable." He shrugged, chuckling a bit as he lifted his cup to take a sip.

"That…that's not true. Don't ever say that again." Arthur hissed, hand darting across the table as he grabbed Matthew's wrist.

"But it is." Matthew replied softly, feeling the familiar cold wash over him as he unwillingly remembered his strange, oft-forgotten existence. He was used to being overlooked while still adored even while no one remembered his name, but that didn't mean it still didn't sting when someone wondered if he was simply an extension of America. "Its okay, though, Arthur. I'm used to it. People just forget me."

"That's not…" Arthur seemed to be struggling for his next words and Matthew felt annoyance at the other for pushing this. Why wouldn't Arthur let it go?

"If you can barely remember me, then what hope is there for others remembering?" He queried, hoping the blow would deter the sandy-haired nation from pushing this conversation.

Arthur's fingers briefly tightened around his wrist and Matthew was rushed back to a time when the gesture would've been a signal for him to be quiet but he's independent now so he could ignore it but he quiets regardless, feeling his face heat up as the green eyes bear into him, Arthur's lips set in a stern line.

"Only your name, boy." He says voice low, trying to keep his temper in check. "I remembered how you take your tea."

And Matthew feels his cheeks warm at the way Arthur's voice washes over him, his nerves sparking under his skin and he resists the urge to squirm as a frisson of desire rushes through him and seems to pool between his thighs. He bites his lip and tries to look abashed, but instead he accidentlyonpurpose whispers, "So one thing."

And Arthur's brow furrows, green eyes narrowing.

* * *

"Ho shit!" Alfred is balanced on his toes, perched on the edge of chair cushion. "Shit just got _real_."

Francis just chuckled richly. "Honhonhonhon~"

* * *

"The day I brought you home, you told me to 'burn in hell'." Arthur said coolly, lips twitching into a wry grin. "In perfect English as well. I believe that was the last time you did so for a while. You refused to eat. You would cry for that frog all the time. You would stay up in your room or run off into the woods and you wouldn't return until nightfall or you were dragged back, whichever came first. You even fed my slippers to that bear of yours."

Matthew says nothing, violet eyes a little wide.

"You preferred stories about pirates and battles and explorers. You never cried. In fact, the first time I saw you cry was after Ypres. You had to be dragged away from the battlefield because you refused to leave your boys beyond." Arthur paused, gathering himself and trying to shake away the dark memories of that time. "That was the last time you ever cried during war. You crawled into my bed after we left Versailles. You hadn't done that since after you marched into Washington."

"Arthur…"

But the Englishman didn't stop, determined to make Matthew understand for once. The past few days seemed like a second chance he hadn't deserved and if he could make it right with one colony, he'd want it to be Matthew.

"You kissed me was when I gave you that book. The only other time you did so was when I gave you responsible government." Arthur smiled kindly, rubbing the soft underside of Matthew's wrist with his fingertips.

"How…how is it…" Matthew began, voice a little shaky. "…that you can remember all that, but not even my name. You even anglicized it yourself—"

"It was difficult when I first got you. You were difficult. You preferred that wanker. I tried everything but never once did you call me 'father'. I was jealous and angry. You wanted nothing to do with me. And Alfred was so demanding and you never asked for anything. I started to think that I didn't have to worry about you. You were the quiet one, the responsible one, the one who could take care of himself and didn't cry when I left or cling."

* * *

"I feel part of this is your fault." Francis said blandly.

Alfred, for his part, sniffled. "My awesomness—it's a curse. I hurt everyone I love."

Francis just stared at the wibbling superpower.

* * *

"I know I've been a right bastard to you, but I never thought…that I had hurt you so much. I never wanted to hurt you." Arthur said quietly, voice pleading. "I had hoped you knew…I…I'm not so good at these things, Matthew."

The pair was quiet, Arthur trying to figure out what else to say and Matthew, trying to compose himself.

"I never thought that." Matthew finally offered, gaze averted, a little uncomfortable but touched.

Arthur, still sure that Matthew was lying (and maybe the Canadian was, just a little bit), just cleared his throat and nodded. "Of course."

"Perhaps, you'd like to visit Toronto." The younger nation suggested softly, still warm, feeling a burst of love for the other nation, but wanting to change the subject before he lost his composure again.

"That'd be lovely." Arthur responded, a little too loudly as he suddenly realized he was still gripping his former charge's wrist. "Very good, my boy. Excellent idea."

* * *

"He's so awkward." Alfred marveled.

"_Malheursement._" Francis rolled his eyes heavenward. "He's been like this since he was a child."

* * *

"It has been a while since you've been in me." Matthew said picking up his teacup before realizing what he said, just as Arthur's hand knocked into his own teacup at Matthew's words, sending the delicate spiraling to the ground where it shattered. "I mean, visited me!" Matthew backtracked quickly, overcome with horror.

"Damn it no!" Arthur swore before realizing that Matthew had thought he was shouting at him instead of the rapidly growing stain. "I mean, I'd love to be in you—I mean visit you! Visit!"

Both men's faces were dark red.

* * *

Both Alfred and Francis were gasping for air through their raucous laughter.

* * *

"I…I'm just gonna go…" Matthew muttered, face flaming, as he darted towards the door. "And kill Alfred and Francis" He swore under his breath, their laughter echoing in his ears.

"Matthew, wait!" Arthur called out just as the door slammed behind Matthew. "Oh bollocks…" He muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. "Way to muck things up, old chap."

* * *

"They totally need our help." Alfred said with a sage nod.

"Without a doubt." Francis agreed.

Suddenly the door slammed open and a furious Matthew stood in the doorway. "You two."

Both men stood up.

"Matt, let us explain—" Alfred begged.

Matthew snarled something in French and the superpower glanced at Francis. "What'd he—"

"I don't know." Francis grit out, skin instinctively prickling at the sound of his language being bastardized. Then he realized Matthew looked ready to snap. "_Cher…_?" He stepped back. "You do not want to hurt your Papa~"

Matthew's eyes narrowed.

* * *

"Well, you did make some headway." Alfred began conversationally, smiling at Matthew who holding a bag of ice to his head. "And I don't think I've ever seen you defenestrate two people at the same time."

Matthew glared at him, lips pressed into a thin line. "It's a shame we're only on the third floor and that we can't really die."

"I still can't believe you left Francis near the African nations. That's harsh bro."

"You're lucky Russia isn't here and everyone else is too chicken to shove a pipe up your ass."

"And that you don't have a pipe." Alfred laughed obnoxiously and Matthew bopped him with the bag, eliciting a loud OW.

"I will shove this bag of ice up your ass." Matthew warned, violet eyes dark.

Alfred reigned in the urge to snort at the threat, mostly because he knew Matthew would only do something worse and more painful and he was running out of excuses as to why he had the strangest injuries.

For some reason, his Boss never believed him when he said Matthew beat him up.

"Anyhoo, brometheus, we now know that Arthur is just really bad with names and that, on some level, he wants to be in you." Alfred waggled his eyebrows and yelped when Matthew smacked him with the ice again. "You're so violent bro." He pouted.

"And you're annoying." Matthew retaliated with a scowl, a rosy blush on his face as the memories from the earlier events rushed back.

"At least I don't have a weird Oedipus complex."

"No, you have a hero complex and you don't think and now you're in two wars and your economy—"

"Okay, okay." Alfred winced. "I'm sorry, Mattie."

Matthew was silent for a moment. "Its okay." He said softly after a moment. "I'm not really mad. Its just…it was embarrassing and then I just ran away like a coward."

"You're not a coward." The blue-eyed nation said comfortingly. "I'm sorry I laughed."

"I just…what if he said it was improper or wrong? What if he doesn't want me?" Matthew said softly.

"Dude." Alfred said firmly. "Did you even see the way he watched you as you were fellating that popsicle? Hell, even I kinda wanted you." He blinked, pausing for a moment. "No homo."

The violet-eyed nation giggled. "Sure, Al, sure."

* * *

"_Such a pretty little thing, aren't you?" The pirate hissed, pressing up against the young man, bending him over the hard wood of the bed frame. "Soft skin" he nipped the pale column of the young man's throat. "Silky hair" he cooed, tugged the curling strands as he grinded harshly against the younger man's backside. "Angelic voice. Telling me to go fuck myself in that sweet little voice." He panted, mouthing the other's jaw line. "Tell me, how would daddy feel about his precious heir being defiled by the big bad pirate. Well, luv? Would it break his heart? Would it kill him, knowing that you're bent over like cheap whore?" He breathed heavily, breath hot against the blond's neck. He reached around, palming the other's member firmly. _

"_Pig." The boy snarled, fingers gripping the soft sheets of the bed, face red and humiliated at the way he was being treated by a mere pirate. _

_The pirate just laughed, nuzzling the other's neck. "Name's Arthur. You'll be screaming it later."_

"_Go to hell." The boy spat. _

"_Only if I can take you with me, pet." Arthur chuckled, straightening up and tugging the boy back with him, gloved hand tangled in his golden hair. He pulled the boy taut like a bow, so that his head was tilted back and his throat was bare for the world to see. "Best treasure I've ever come across, you are." He whirled the boy around and captured his lips, forcing them open before plundering that unwilling mouth, his tongue mapping each nook and cranny. When he finally pulled away, the boy's lips were dark and bruised—making the young man look utterly debauched, despite the hatred in his eyes. _

"_I'll see you hanged." The boy swore, violet eyes enraged._

_Arthur smiled lazily, jade eyes amused. "And I'll have you seeing stars, poppet."_

Arthur awoke with a gasp, shuddering with the last dregs of desire and becoming slowly aware of the rapidly cooling wet spot on his pajamas. Blinking tiredly, he groaned and fell back on the pillows as he recalled his dream.

Matthew. Well, that was new turn of events. Not entirely unwelcome, but it was Matthew.

And bloody hell was Matthew hot-purple eyes bright and head thrown back and spread out on his sheets...

His body twitched in renewed interest.

Oh dear…

* * *

To whoever suggested Arthur needed to have a wet dream, here it is. Personally, I see Arthur as always being a bit more fond of Matthew. Just a personal thing, really.

So, like it? Hate it? All comments & criticisms welcome~


	6. Chapter 6

You all really rock. Thanks for all the kind reviews and general excitement! :D

Now, I know everyone is expecting a wet dream involving syrup. I have not forgotten. Trust me, darling readers. You will get your syrup. And it will be MUCH better than a wet dream. -grins like Francis- OHOHOHO~

Pairing: eventual Arthur/Matthew

Warnings: sexual situations, language, general stupidity, crack, OOCness, etc

Disclaimer: If I owned Hetalia, would Canada be a secondary character? (PFT, HELL NO. He'd be sexed up on a daily basis -shot-)

* * *

"_This is more like it." Matthew said smugly, violet eyes gleaming as he stared down at Arthur who was spread out on the bed, wrists and ankles shackled to the bedposts, in only a pair of Union Jack boxers. "And no skirt—tabernak…" He mumbled, glancing down and realizing he was wearing thigh-high leather boots and a matching leather mini—okay, no that was too generous of a description. It was really just a strip of leather wrapped tight around his hips, just barely covering his semi-hard member and the bottom curve of his behind visible under the shiny black fabric. _

"_Really, Matthew. You shouldn't complain." Arthur said casually from the bed, absently stretching as much as he could in his current predicament. A rakish smirk flitted across his face. "I'm certainly content." He leered, jade eyes slowly making their way down lean legs and back up, his tongue darting out to unconsciously wet his lips. _

_The blush on Matthew's face could rival the red on his own flag when his violet eyes settled on the erection of his former guardian straining against the thin fabric of his boxers. When he finally managed to tear his eyes away, he noticed the downright smug look on the Englishman's face._

"_See something you like?" Arthur teased._

_Matthew's eyes narrowed fractionally as he stepped forward, taking the teasing as a challenge. He sauntered over to the other man, mentally shrugging (it was his dream, after all. Might as well enjoy it), and crawled onto the bed, taking purchase on the older nation's stomach and smiling sweetly down at Arthur. "Maybe." He murmured, taking the opportunity to drag his fingers down the others chest—and wow, the years had been kind to Arthur, he marveled, feeling warm skin and the hard ridges under his fingertips. _

_He shuddered, feeling warmth pool low in his belly and he let his eyes flutter shut as he leaned down and kissed Arthur, dropping kisses up and down the other's neck and upper chest._

"_Bloody tease…be a good lad, Matthew, and untie me…" Arthur grumbled, nose twitching as the blond's fine strands of hair tickled his nose, trying to twist his neck so that he could capture the blond's elusive lips, but Matthew merely smirked against the other's skin and stayed out of reach. _

"_Why should I?" The nation of Canada queried, grinding down on his former caretaker, looking far too innocent._

"_So I can give you the best shag of your life." The Brit responded confidently, trying (and somewhat failing) to thrust upwards._

"_Oh?" Matthew asked flippantly, thoroughly enjoying the banter. He leaned forward so that their chests were flush against each other, slipping so that his thigh fell between Arthur's legs and that his hardness was pressed up against the other's hipbone. _

"_I'll flip you over and spread your legs wide before stretching you nice and loose. And then when you're fucking yourself on my fingers…I'll drive straight into you." Arthur said lowly, green eyes darkening. "Fuck you straight into the mattress…have you moaning like a wanton little slag…"_

_Matthew exhaled breathlessly, unconsciously squirming against the other. "A-and?" _

"_Fuck you every which way…on your knees…on your back with you legs over my shoulders…against the wall…" Matthew was panting now, grinding down harder against Arthur. The Englishman, utterly entranced by the way the delectable way the blond was grinding against him and the breathy mewls that slipped freely from his lips, continued on, in that same sensual voice. "And then I'll even let you be on top…you can ride me and I'll grip you so hard, you'll see bruises for days and every single bleeding time you'll think of me and you'll think about me fucking you because no one will ever even come close…" He promised._

* * *

Matthew awoke, then, much to his displeasure, to find himself humping not the object of his obsession but his mattress.

How unsatisfying.

Groaning and trying to ignore his painfully hard morning wood, the blond nation sat up tiredly and rubbed furiously at his eyes.

It had been a few days since the meeting and his and Arthur's little chat. The other's words still warmed Matthew's heart. Knowing that his former guardian—as forgetful as he was—never really forgot him completely was some of the best news he could receive.

He knew Arthur never hated him, but being constantly forgotten made it easy for him to think that he wasn't important to the former Empire. After all he had gone through for Arthur—WWI and WWII, for example—he had thought he was just another source of capital for the man and his self-esteem had taken quite the blow.

Of course, finding out that your former guardians viewed you as an over-priced, icy wasteland and seemed more interested in land and your cute woodland critter friends than your latest Latin translation was a major blow to his self-esteem as well. Being used as cannon fodder and still being forgotten only added insult to injury. Then finding out that your own brother wanted to bone you and steal your land for a few decades was enough to cement the idea that his family just sucked.

Of course, by that logic he really shouldn't be lusting after his colonizer, but it wasn't all bad times. Arthur did care for him, more than he let on. Arthur had been a fair guardian and, looking back now, he was a little more spoilt than some of Arthur's other territories.

Then again, he did earn it…

But we digress. The point was that Matthew loved Arthur and wanted the Englishman to fuck him silly. And Matthew was more than okay with that.

He forgave Alfred for burning down York (so what if he still made it a point to mess around with a lighter right in front of his brother whenever he visited DC?). He forgave Francis for giving him away and nearly stealing away Quebec (of course, forgiveness came only after he paid off Gilbert into visiting Francis while wearing his old WWII military uniform. It was funny until his Boss called him in to ask why all of France was in hysterics. That was probably the first time any of his Bosses threatened to spank him.). He even forgave Russia for that one time during a hockey game (he got him back later. Believe it.)

So of course he could forgive Arthur.

They were nations. They lived on, thus they had to move on. If they still held grudges, they would accomplish nothing. Clinging to the past was a detriment to their futures. They had to keep moving forward or else be eaten alive by their histories.

* * *

Arthur, freshly-showered and in his house robe, briskly tugged off the soiled sheets before depositing them in the laundry basket. Snippets of the dream from the night before kept popping before his eyes—Matthew clinging to his shoulders as he entered him, the way his cock slid out of that snug hole before forcing it to stretch as he re-entered quickly, a flushing Matthew writhing against the sheets—cursing and wrapping his legs around his waist, urging him to go faster, harder and harder and—

Arthur clenched his jaw, face flushing as he shook his head to dispel the memories.

"Bloody hell, man, get a hold of yourself." He scolded, throwing the last of the sheets in the basket violently, before lifting up the basket and storming out of the room. "You used to bathe him, damn it."

Which were, apparently, the worst words to say because suddenly the image of a wet Matthew peering at him from over the rim of the tub with a 'come hither' smile assaulted him, drawing a pained groan from the usually semi-stoic man.

"Oh, bollocks." He moaned, dropping the basket on the washer and leaning over it. "Its Matthew!"

His cock twitched.

"Traitor…" He hissed, glaring down at his dick. "You're awfully interested now, aren't you? Didn't want to get it up for Parvati, no you bastard. Haven't displayed desire in anyone, now you want Matthew's arse."

Just to mock him, his cock began to rise again.

"Well you're not getting it." Arthur snapped with finality. "Poor boy's already got enough problems by virtue of being related to Alfred and Francis. He doesn't need another perverted father figure either. I refuse to be like that wine-guzzling twat. Besides, what would he want with an old has-been like me?" He sighed. "He's probably just being polite. That's how Matthew is, after all." He glared sternly at his erection that refused to be abated. "As wonderful as it has been spending time with him, nothing will come of it. So, don't get your hopes up old chap."

Now, it would be worth pointing out, that wet dreams featuring other nations weren't really that uncommon amongst nations. Arthur did have the odd dream about Francis (but he'd deny it and don't you ever fucking dare tell that frog because he'd want to have sex again and Arthur had enough of that in the early 1900s.) and even Austria once (which was strange, admittedly, but the man had beautiful hands) and even Alfred (ONCE).

But aside from Alfred, he rarely dreamt about his former colonies. Well, and Parvati, but she was different. He didn't colonize the Indian nation so much as subjugate her and force her to play cricket with him for hours and cook for him and carry his bags whenever he went tiger-hunting (he never did find that bastard that ruined his hat). And then they had sadistic sex afterwards.

Granted, he noted how well they had grown up. Steven had grown broad-shouldered and fearless (of course, you had to be fearless when you're surrounded by animals that want to kill you, Arthur shuddered). Z was still painfully androgynous—was Z a girl or a boy? He could never remember—but Z was strong and graceful and kept Steven in line.

Matthew, too, had grown tall—though you could never really tell with the way he slouched and it was so frustrating because he used to have such wonderful posture. He was fit, though his features never lost that soft, aristocratic shade that he had inherited from Francis. He was still fair and unmarked by the harsh industrialization to which many nations had submitted completely. He had always been active as a child, escaping to play outside, and Arthur would bet that Matthew had continued that habit even now.

So it wasn't completely strange that he had dreamt of an attractive nation. The fact that he wasn't able to brush it away and immediately forget it was troubling. And had it been any other person, he'd have attempted something with the other person.

But it was Matthew.

They had only just barely managed to find some stable ground in their relationship. He still wasn't sure if he managed to convey just how important the young blond was to him. Jumping into anything with Matthew just might destroy the delicate threads binding them and he'd rather have the boy in his life than bear with pushing him away irrevocably. Because even though in the past—despite their disagreements and his mistreatment of the other—Matthew still gave him chance after chance and he refused to lose the undeserved mercy.

Besides, it seems he had another paramour he could focus on, Arthur noted, glancing over and catching sight of the lush bouquet of tulips that had yet to wither away.

Whomever it was, that person had some knowledge of floral symbolism. The Brit smiled, lightly touching the smooth petals. And that person was in love with him.

He had hoped that perhaps it was…

He shook his head, already pushing away the ephemeral thought.

* * *

"Yeah, so I ordered twelve dozen roses and had them sent to Arthur." Alfred began casually, tilting back in his swivel chair, phone pressed against his ear as he balanced his feet up on the heavy oak desk.

"Aren't you in a recession?" Matthew asked incredulously, cell phone clenched between his ear and shoulder as he struggled with a stack of papers.

"Psh, recession." Alfred snorted. "Besides, it's the least I could do after forgetting your birthday."

"Alfred, you paid for an entire fireworks display and bought me a new pair of blades." Matthew pointed out quietly.

Alfred froze. "You…you mean I didn't miss your birthday?" He asked before blinking and laughing loudly. "Oh, man, wow! I'm so used to forgetting you, I just assumed!" He tossed his head back and laughed some more, much to Matthew's annoyance. "I'm such an awesome brother!"

"Yeah, yeah, Al." The Canadian rolled his eyes and there was a loud _thump_ as he dropped the stack of papers onto his desk.

"So, right. I sent the flowers off to Artie with some Shakespearean bullshit. He likes that girly stuff right?"

"Don't refer to poetry and Shakespeare as 'girly'!" Matthew scolded. "And you're one to talk! You try to work Whitman into your daily speech."

"Had I the choice to tally greatest bards,"

"God, you're annoying."

"To limn their portraits, stately, beautiful, and emulate at will,"

"Please stop."

Alfred snickered again. "Anyways, you know if you quote Shakespeare around him, he'll totally just jump your bones."

"…How do you know this?"

"Francis." Alfred said flatly. "He told me…so much…I need to bleach my brain." Alfred shuddered. "Apparently he likes to dominate his bed partners. Like, tie them down and shit."

Matthew was silent, a rosy hue spreading across the bridge of his nose and dancing across his face.

"And he likes role-playing. And his accent, like, thickens so he's all like 'C'mon y' dirty slag'." The other blond continued, voice mimicking the strange slur of their former guardian. "'C'mon then, yeah. Beg us. Let us hear y' scream.' And he'll use the royal 'we' and stuff."

Suddenly he paused, horror rising in the pit of his stomach, before asking nervously, "Please tell me you're not fantasizing about him right now."

Matthew, who was already drifting away to a fantasy where Arthur was pulling his hair and shoving his face down into his crouch, sputtered in embarrassment. "A-am not!"

"Sweet Washington's ghost, you were!" Alfred crowed. "Man, bro, you really need to get laid. We'd better up our game, yo." He added before slamming down the receiver, ignoring Matthew's angry shouts, already thinking of what else he could do.

Maybe he could just chloroform Matthew and leave him naked on the other's doorstep.

But how to get the blond through customs?

* * *

A week later, Arthur opened up his door to come face to face with several hassled looking delivery men holding multiple vases of dark red roses.

"Someone's got a secret admirer." One of the more cheerful ones said. "Good on ya, guv'nor."

Arthur just nodded bemusedly, stepping back to let the men into his home. After the roses were settled onto every spare space, the deliverymen left, handing him only a card before driving off.

Opening the card, Arthur felt his face warm as he read it.

_Being your slave, what should I do but tend_

_Upon the hours and times of your desire?_

* * *

"You sent what sonnet?" Matthew shouted, reaching over the table and grabbing his brother's collar. "You couldn't have just used the summer's day sonnet?"

Alfred just grinned unapologetically. "What? Its not like you're not a slave to him." He smirked before breaking out into song. "I'm a—slave for you~" He cooed before yelping as his brother renewed his vigorous shaking.

* * *

"_Mathieu." _Francis said sternly as soon his former colony picked up the phone. "Papa is not happy."

"Um, Francis—"

"You have yet to bed Arthur. _Petit_, I am ashamed of you. All you have to do is pull down your pants and bend over. He will be powerless to resist your cute tushie. I know I am."

"…"

"What have you to say for yourself?"

"Um, I don't just want to have sex—though that would be fantastic." Matthew said slowly, more than a little unnerved. "I want—"

"Ah, yes, you want something more." Francis said thoughtfully, rubbing his stubbled chin. "That explains the floriography and Shakespeare."

"Alfred's touch."

"So he's not a complete fool."

"Surprisingly, no."

"Listen, _mon chaton,_ he is incredibly fond of you. I've seen him eyeing you lustily." Francis said matter-of-factly.

Stay cool, Matt. "R-really?" His voice totally did not go pitchy.

"Yes. Why would he not? You're beautiful, _Mathieu. _You inherited my good looks, after all. Imagine if you took after Arthur." Francis paused dramatically. "The very idea..._ quelle horreur!_"

"He's not unattractive—"

"I'd have to kill you out of mercy—"

"Francis!" Matthew said in shock.

"I love you too much to let you suffer those eyebrows. And if that's a crime, let me rot in prison!" Francis shouted with a fabulous flourish of his hand. Then, realizing that no one could see him, he straightened up and cleared his throat. "Anyways, _chou_, I am coming to Mo—"

"No." Matthew hissed with vehemence.

"—Ottawa, then it is~" Francis said with fake-cheer, laughing a little too loudly. "And I shall bring _le rosbif. _Papa will take care of everything~"

"I don't think—"

"Alfred agreed. He should already be there."

"What? He didn't say anything—" Matthew was interrupted by the screech of tires against the pavement and then the sound of the doorbell chiming, followed by the obnoxious sound of Alfred pounding on the poor front door. "—Did you all forget to tell me—"

"If he does not thoroughly make love to you by the end of the visit, it shall be a personal failure on my part."

"Mattie! Open the door!" Alfred whined, banging against the front door.

"You did forget!" Matthew accused as Francis continued to not deny it. "You ass—"

"Arthur shall be in yours or else I share revoke my title of the Nation of Love!" Francis announced before hanging up.

Staring at the phone in disbelief, the nation of Canada's lips twisted into a scowl before he slammed down the receiver. "One day…" He shook his head, storming towards the door. "I'm just gonna flip out and kill everyone…" He muttered ominously.

* * *

Poor Mattie, you come from an insane family. Of course, you're suffering from a daddy!kink. XD Yeah, so Parvati is India. I just chose that name 'cause I know a Parvati and she's tres cool.

So, to sum up. Arthur, on some level, is attracted to Matthew. Matthew, poor boy, is in deep. Alfred and Francis want to see both men happy. Arthur is afraid to start something with Matthew. Matthew doesn't know how to start something with Arthur. Francis and Alfred (those sluts) are unimpressed. LET THE SEDUCTION BEGIN.

This is just a crazy story... XD


	7. Chapter 7

Thanks so much to everyone following this story! You guys are amazing. And thanks for the kind reviews! I'm glad everyone approves of Alfred. He's actually starting to steal the show it seems... But its okay, 'cause its Alfred. Thats how he rolls. XD

Btw, a little Francis/Alfred? -evil grin- I'll think about it. Don't hold me to it though.

Warnings: previous warnings apply

Disclaimer: I claim no ownership.

* * *

"Aw, c'mon Mattie. Don't be like that." Alfred wheedled from where he was perched on Matthew's kitchen counter, heels idly smacking against the dark wood of the cabinets. "You needed it."

"Fuck you, Alfred." Matthew snapped moodily, taking a vicious sip of his Iced Capp every so often.

"It was for the best, bro." The other blond scolded, reaching into the box of Timbits and pulling out a handful. "You're one hairy mofo."

"Alfred—" Matthew scowled, shuddering in memory of the way the matronly beautician yanked each strip of wax off his chest.

"But I guess you have to keep warm somehow since its always winter here." The superpower shrugged, shoving the bite-sized treats into his mouth.

"Its not always winter." Matthew snapped, before muttering under his breath, "And I'm surprised you even feel cold with all that extra blubber around your middle."

"It's muscle!" Alfred exclaimed, bits of half-chewed donut spewing onto the once spotless tile.

"Your ass disagrees." The northern nation countered earning a gasp from his brother.

"You wanna talk about asses?" Alfred shot back. "Fine! You've got some junk in your trunk, baby brother."

"I play hockey! Have you even seen Sidney Crosby's ass? All hockey players have the same problem—"

"Oh, sure." Alfred snorted. "Its all hockey's fault. Its not at all because you eat poutine before bed—"

"One time, Alfred, and Alexandre wouldn't stop sobbing. Remember that time Louise made all that gumbo and you were pissing fire for weeks? We all do things we regret for our states and provinces—"

"Like the time you did that naughty Mountie calendar—"

"We agreed to never talk about that." Matthew said darkly. "Or I will tell Anthony who his real daddy—"

"Okay, okay." Alfred laughed awkwardly. "We'll go back to talking about your fertile prairies. When was the last time you waxed? You were like a fucking lumber jack, Matt."

"I can't believe I let you talk me into it!" Matthew wailed, gripping his hair and leaning forward onto the table.

"There, there, Mattie." Alfred cooed, slipping off the counter and walking behind Matthew, pulling the other nation flush against him and adjusting his head so that it was tucked into the crook of his neck. Then he proceeded to pet the other's hair comfortingly. "It still looks natural and I bet Arthur would really like it."

"…You think so?" Matthew asked quietly after a beat of silence.

"Hells yeah! I mean, body hair can be such a turn off."

"…Cosmo?"

"Never led me wrong before." A beat of silence, then, "Want to plan Phase 'Come hither' of Operation Daddy!Kink now?"

"…"

"…C'mon, broski, you could work on your Sexy Face technique."

"Alfred. I'm part French. I think I'm fine." Matthew said flatly.

Alfred rolled his eyes. "Matt, Matt, Mattie, Matt." He chided, before continuing in his annoying 'smarter than you' voice. "Arthur doesn't want to do the nasty with you because you're half French and are inherently capable of doing all that shameless, kinky shit. If that was the case, he'd already be balls-deep in the your St. Lawrence River."

Matthew resisted the urge to deck his brother.

"No. He wants you because you're you. But because you're you, he doesn't want to give into his incest-tastic fantasies. You can work him over with that French pansy-ass softcore crap all you want, but you won't succeed. You've gotta seduce him with that true Canadian spirit of yours. First, you've got to somehow convince him that you're not his baby anymore. Then, you've got to make him admit that he wants you. And then…" Alfred snickered conspiratorially, suddenly breaking from the frighteningly shrewd voice he had been using. "…then, baby bro, you'd better make sure you have a lot of lube."

* * *

"_Calme-toi, mon lapin_." Francis said boredly, flipping through Parisian newspaper.

Arthur merely snorted, continuing to twirl the plastic knife he had gotten with his airline dinner as he warily watched the other nation. "I wouldn't trust you as far as I could throw you, frog."

"So…four metres?" The blond asked blithely.

Arthur glared at him darkly, jade eyes sharp under furry eyebrows. "Ha ha." He scowled.

"I am not going to do anything to you." Francis huffed, putting down the paper and glaring back at the island nation. "You have my word as a gentleman."

Arthur snorted indelicately. "You're up to something, wanker."

"This is hardly the first time I've abducted you."

"No. But this is the first time you've allowed me to keep my trousers."

Francis smirked. "Would you prefer to not have that luxury?" He raised his hand, wiggling his fingers teasingly towards the other's belt buckle. "I could—" He snatched back his hand as the plastic utensil swung forward and whooshed past, almost very nearly severing his pinky finger. "How uncouth." The Frenchman pouted. "You wound me, _cher_."

"Not yet."

"We're only going to visit _Mathieu_. You know, the cute one?"

Arthur stared hard at him, mouth set in a scowl. "Wh—"

But Francis was already digging into his man-purse. Finally, pulling out an envelope with a flourish, he announced, "_Voila!"_

Arthur raised an eyebrow as Francis shoved a picture of two grinning blonds in his face. "This one," here he pointed a neatly manicured nail at the blond with bright blue eyes, "is Alfred. He abandoned you for freedom, liberty and—"

"Fuck off."

"—and this one," Ignoring the angry Englishman as he usually did, the older nation pointed to the blond with a long curl bouncing in front of his face, "is _Mathieu_. He likes maple syrup, hockey, and going to the shooting range. You stole him from me and destroyed his taste buds."

"One." Arthur began irritably, snatching the envelope and ruffling through its contents—intent on finding and destroying any pornographic images the other might have of the two younger nations. "I did not steal him. You gave him up willingly enough. You're just jealous that he likes me more…" He trailed off, catching sight of the downright devious smirk on the other's face. "…What?"

Francis just chuckled, leaning back against his seat. "_Pas de quoi._" His lips were still twisted into that insufferable grin. "So, you won't confuse the poor boy for Alfred?"

"Of course not!"

* * *

"So you cleaned thoroughly right?" Alfred asked sternly, blue eyes sharp behind steel-rimmed glasses.

"Yes." Matthew sighed.

"And what do you do with his balls when your mouth is full of cock?"

The violet-eyed nation, ears scarlet red and clinging to Kumajirou, muttered something into the bear's soft fur.

"Didn't catch that, Mattie."

"Fondle them." Matthew hissed, lifting his equally red face for a brief second before burying it back into the white fur.

"Matt. I know this is embarrassing—"

"No shit!"

"—but I'm just trying to help." Alfred sighed.

"And I appreciate it, Al. Really." Matthew sighed. "But I don't understand why you won't let me put on some clothes. You know Arthur hates it when we dress slovenly or not at all."

Alfred quirked an eyebrow. "But we just woke up." He gestured to his Batman boxers. "Iggy should be happy I even bothered to put on anything. I sleep like Mother Nature intended—in the nude."

"…You know, there is some Francis underneath all that Arthur and Antonio." Matthew noted. "…But, no. I've been awake."

Alfred stared at him before launching across the room, forcibly dislodging Kumajirou from Matthew's lap as the superpower began to tousle Matthew's hair, ruffling the curling strands under his hands and between his fingers all while avoiding his brother's flailing arms.

The bear growled in annoyance, contemplating biting the obnoxious blond.

Before puling away, Alfred roughly pinched the soft skin of Matthew's neck a few times before dragging his nails down the other's smooth chest, eliciting a yelp and numerous curses from the nation. Then, grinning like a madman, Alfred said, "And now you look like you just rolled out of bed after a long night of doing the vertical tango."

"…Don't you mean horizontal?"

"You say affordable universal healthcare, I say socialism, Matt." Alfred said dismissively.

* * *

"Ah, hello!" Matthew said breathlessly after he threw open the door (he had just barely made it to the door after the doorbell after tripping Alfred). "Francis, Arthur. How was your flight?"

"_Magnifique._" Francis said lowly, azure eyes tracing over his former colony's pectorals and abs down to the sparse golden curls trailing teasingly into the waistband of his rose-print boxers. "Are those new boxers?" He asked distractedly.

Matthew blushed.

Arthur, on the other hand, was taking in the other's disheveled appearance and the barely-there pink splotches on the other's creamy skin.

"Sup?" Alfred said lazily, popping out from nowhere and draping himself across Matthew's shoulders. He scratched boredly at his own bare chest before glancing slyly at his brother. "Damn Mattie. He really did a number on you." The scripted words (that he never cleared with Matthew) flowing easily from his mouth.

Francis couldn't hold back and facepalmed when Arthur practically stiffened next to him.

Matthew looked mortified.

Alfred looked like he was a goddamn genius.

"My baby bro is such a baller." Alfred said proudly, ruffling his Matthew's hair before reaching down and soundly slapping the northern nation on the rear before whirling on his heel and disappearing into the house.

Matthew's mouth opened and shut wordlessly several times, bright indigo eyes flickering over to Francis.

Francis's heart keened for the young blond, truly. And he was about to step in and try to ameliorate the situation, when Arthur spoke.

"Matthew. Go clean yourself up." He said curtly. "I raised you better than this."

"Al…Al was just joking." Matthew said weakly. "We just woke up."

Arthur looked skeptical, but his expression softened minutely. "Regardless, go put on some proper clothes. Can't be running about in your skivvies all day."

* * *

"What? I was trying to make him jealous!" Alfred defended. "Cosmo says—"

"Fuck your Cosmo." Matthew hissed. Alfred looked scandalized.

"Matt—"

"That was the most half-assed plan—"

"I'll come up with something better."

"Please don't." Matthew growled before shoving Alfred out of his room.

* * *

"He was jealous, I know it." Francis whispered as he walked past Alfred. "Well-intended, _chou_, but poorly executed."

* * *

"Where are those two?" Arthur asked suddenly, looking up and not seeing Alfred or Francis nearby. "I don't trust them." He had a feeling those two were up to something but he couldn't quite place what exactly…

Matthew shrugged, leaning past Arthur and pulling a brightly decorated jar closer to him. His hand brushed against the other's arm.

Both men smiled shyly at each other at the contact.

* * *

"You bugged your own brother's house?" Francis asked incredulously.

"Safety precaution." Alfred replied distractedly. "Back when Mattie was being a little passive-aggressive shit about Vietnam and fucking Cuba. He knows I've been watching him. He humors me by keeping these cameras running. And its not like he doesn't have me bugged."

"You're brothers."

Alfred looked up from his laptop and gave the other a flat look. "I'd rather we mutually spy on each other than go to war with Mattie. He's kind of a douche when he wants to be. And he has a mean left hook."

"But still—"

"Hey, you can lecture me when you stop being European." Alfred said flippantly. "You guys go to war over such stupid things."

"Lines of succession and maintaining the balance of power is hardly stupid—"

Alfred rolled his eyes and made a 'blah blah blah' gesture with his hand. "I'm almost done hacking back into this if you're done."

Immediately, a view of each room popped onto the screen and both nations leaned forward in anticipation when they caught sight of Matthew and Arthur talking in the kitchen.

"Push him onto the counter and kiss him." Alfred urged, scooting closer to the scene as though the decreased distance would enable the figures on the screen to follow his command easier.

* * *

"It truly has been a while, hasn't it?" Arthur asked wistfully.

"You've been busy. We all have." Matthew said kindly, leaning back against the countertop.

Arthur looked at him fondly. "I'd make time for you. I hope you know that, my boy."

* * *

"Awww." Alfred cooed as the conversation trickled through the speakers.

Francis looked impressed. "So he hasn't lost his charm."

"He had charm?" The superpower looked disbelieving.

"Once upon a time." Francis said dryly.

* * *

Matthew smiled at his former guardian.

Arthur, suddenly assaulted by vivid memories of that dream, held his breath, overcome by the urge to press closer and see for his self if Matthew's skin was as smooth as it seemed in the dream.

"Oh bollocks." He thought frantically, feeling the slow unfurl of desire in his stomach. "Steady on, old chap, steady on."

He didn't want to let his perverse desires get the best of him.

"Don't ruin it. Don't ruin it!" rushed through his mind loudly and he very nearly missed Matthew's words.

"—pancakes okay?"

Arthur jerked back, looking at Matthew in confusion. "Hm?"

Matthew stared at him in worry. "You and Francis haven't had breakfast yet." He said slowly. "Would pancakes be fine?"

"Um, yes, of course, love." Arthur said quickly, missing the way Matthew's lips twitched upwards at the common endearment. "You do make excellent pancakes."

This time he caught Matthew's smile, full and bright, before the boy ducked away to gather his ingredients.

My, the boy had a lovely smile.

* * *

Alexandre is Quebec. Anthony is New York (who is his real daddy? -shot). Louise is Louisiana (I am so original XD)

I'm surprised no one mentioned the little allusion to "Vive le Quebec libre" in the last chapter. Haha, but its okay. I hope this last chapter was still good. I don't know how long this will be. I'm having way too much fun writing it.

Still worth continuing? XD


	8. Chapter 8

Thanks so much for the reviews and favs and alerts everyone! The support for this crazy little story of mine makes me feel so warm and fuzzy. Cookies for you all! And please enjoy this next installment!

Warnings: language, insanity, OOCness, violence, etc

Pairing: eventual Arthur/Matthew (England/Canada)

Disclaimer: I claim no ownership.

* * *

Alfred giggled obnoxiously in between large bites of pancake.

Francis, fingers idly stroking his stubbled chin, merely smirked benevolently.

Matthew, oblivious to the other nations, merely continued to innocently lap at his syrup-covered fingers before slipping his sticky digits into his mouth, humming cheerfully.

Arthur watched, a little slack-jawed with a flustered flush, at the sight. When Matthew let out a pleased little murmur before pulling his fingertips out of his mouth, leaving a shiny, almost obscene wetness on his lips, the Englishman's entire countenance seemed to twitch.

"Is something wrong with the pancakes?" The nation of Canada asked, then, after noticing that no one (except Alfred) was eating, in a worried voice. "I know its not much, but—"

"No, no don't worry, _petit_." Francis soothed, that knowing glint not leaving his sharp azure eyes. Then, with a pointed look at Arthur, the older nation gracefully began to slice his food into neat slivers.

Matthew, unconvinced, turned to Arthur with an uncertain look. "Are you sure you wouldn't rather have something else? I could whip up some scrambled eggs and I have sausage—"

Here, Alfred began to snicker into his glass of milk. However his snickers abruptly turned into coughs when a well-timed kick from under the table, jostled his chair and forced the superpower to inhale his drink.

Arthur calmly began to tuck into his breakfast. "No worries, Matthew. I have always looked forward to your pancakes."

"If you're sure—"

"Yes, very sure. Now eat your food."

Biting back any further worries or arguments, Matthew quietly began to eat his maple syrup soaked pancakes.

Some people might assume he had a problem, what with his need to have maple syrup daily. But, frankly, it was just as much a part of him as were his trees and oil sands and no matter how much Alfred pushed and whined and bitched, he would never relinquish that deliciousness.

And, on a more serious note, when he didn't get his fix of syrup, bad things happened. Bad things like fertilizer-stealing pirates and baby seals meeting a bloody demise.

Ignoring his brother's pout, Matthew concentrated on his food, paying careful attention to each piece he speared, making a conscious effort not to let the syrup dripping from each morsel splatter onto the pretty checkered table cover. He savored each bite, chewing slowly before licking slightly at his lips, tasting the sweet, sticky residue.

Francis, for his part, was mentally patting himself on the back for forcing those etiquette lessons on the blond all those centuries ago. Because Matthew made eating look like the art form it was and judging by the predatory shine in Arthur's gaze, the Frenchman was not the only one appreciative of the Canadian.

* * *

After breakfast, Francis and Alfred disappeared without warning.

"Wankers." Arthur snorted, deftly avoiding Matthew's attempts to relieve him of the dishes he was carrying to the sink. "I'm old, boy, not invalid."

Matthew blushed a bit. "You're a guest." He protested, managing to snatch away the dishes and depositing them into the sink.

"How about you wash and I'll dry?"

The violet-eyed nation seemed to consider it, before finally huffing and scooting over so Arthur could stand next to him at the sink.

Matthew, face resolutely facing forward, didn't notice when Arthur stepped a bit closer than necessary so that his hip pressed up against his former charge's.

* * *

"Smooth." Alfred whistled appreciatively. "Iggy's got some moves."

"…Must we really be here?" Francis asked disdainfully, almost glaring at the dirty basement as though it caused him offense. And, truly, the three-week old pizza and dirty socks in the corner were quite offensive.

"Got a problem with the Man Cave, Frenchie?" Alfred asked distractedly, blue eyes focused on the sharp feed of the kitchen scene on his laptop. "Then talk to the hand, bi-atch." And he fluttered his hand—palm out—in the Frenchman's direction.

"Charming." Francis muttered, gracefully pulling up his feet and tucking his legs under him when he saw something skitter across the floor. "_Sacré bleu._"

* * *

"So…" Matthew began awkwardly, handing a wet plate to Arthur, nearly jerking away when their fingers brushed together. "How was your flight?"

"It was pleasant enough." Arthur said lightly, watching from the corner of his eye as the younger nation seemed to busy himself in scrubbing one particular plate.

The two soon lapsed back into silence.

"How is Her Majesty?"

"She's doing quite well. How…is…your…" Arthur paused. He couldn't remember if Matthew liked his Prime Minister or not. …Who was his Prime Minister again? And did he dissolve Parliament or was it back on? …He had a much better handle on these things before World War II. Perhaps it'd be safer to discuss something other than politics… "…wildlife?" He finished lamely.

Matthew's movement stilled and he looked at the older nation incredulously.

* * *

"How hard is it to stick your hand down his pants?" Alfred shouted at the screen, angrily.

"Perhaps we could demonstrate?" Francis suggested with a leer.

"Mayb—WHOA! HEY DON'T MAKE ME GET THE HOSE!"

* * *

Matthew was spared having to respond by a resounding crash and hysteric shriek and unrepentant chuckles that echoed throughout the house.

Arthur, who was already kicking himself for his incompetence, was spared from babbling out apologies.

A gunshot then burst out and Matthew looked more worried then. "Shouldn't we go check on them?" He fretted, already wiping off his hands on a nearby dishtowel and making his way to the door.

"Oh its not as though either of them can really die." Arthur reassured, adding, in a dark whisper, "Bloody shame that is."

"Matt! Tell Pervy McPervepants to stop bad-touching me!" Alfred wailed, dashing into the kitchen and colliding with his brother, wrapping his arms and legs around the younger nation. "No means no!"

"Al." Matthew said, his face smooshed against his brother's collarbone. "Did you say anything that could be construed as consensual?"

"I am going to kill that wanker." Arthur announced, annoyed and ready to take it out on Francis (as he was apt to), as he stalked out of the kitchen.

"…You have some timing." Matthew mumbled.

"Iggy was failing so hard." Alfred whispered back, detangling himself from Matthew. "Its not you, bro. It's Eyebrows. Your wildlife, seriously?"

"He's been out of the game for a while." Matthew reminded the other, turning back to the dishes, pointedly ignoring the distinctly violent crashes occurring somewhere in the house.

"Well, his incompetence isn't helping." Alfred grumbled, running his hand raggedly through his blond locks. "I'm starting to think we should drop all this subtle shit and just leave you naked on his bed."

"Somehow I think even that would go over his head." Matthew muttered tiredly, leaning back against the counter. "Anyways, Arthur's always been a romantic. Chivalry and courtly love and wooing—"

"And having unsafe sex against a grimy alley wall in Whitecapel with some strung out, syphilis-infected prostitute as rats scurry by." Alfred said flatly. "Yeah, the guy's a real Don Juan."

Matthew glared at his near twin. "That was a phase, Al."

"C'mon, Matt." Alfred rolled his eyes. "You know this whole 'gentleman' thing is still pretty novel for him. The guy was a pimp once upon a time." He grimaced, nose scrunching up. "How he managed to get laid with those nasty things—I'll never know but there must be something about him if you want his co—" Alfred was cut off as Matthew threw the dishtowel at him.

"I'm not going to just get naked and scream 'take me now'." The nation of Canada snapped, face rosy.

Alfred looked a little apologetic and he sighed, twisting the towel in his hands. "Okay, bro, okay." He tossed the abused towel back at his neighbor. "Besides, its you. I doubt he's just gonna hit it and quit it." The American looked thoughtful, hoisting himself up onto the counter with ease. "Maybe you guys should go on a few dates, a few candlelight dinners and sappy music even. It shouldn't be too hard, you already know each other. We just need to push you to the next level, y'know?"

"Yeah, yeah." Matthew agreed, half-heartedly. "We just have to get to that point." He frowned. "Maybe…" He paused, turning the words over in his head. "..in order to prove to him that I want him, I should be a little more aggressive?" His voice rose a little at the end, almost as though he himself was questioning the notion.

"To make him feel less like a pedo and more willing to bend you over the nearest—"

The violet-eyed nation slapped a hand across his brother's mouth (with more force than necessary) and rolled his eyes. "Sure, lets go with that for now." And then, "Are love and sex just one and the same for you?" He pulled his hand away. When Alfred gave him a smug, shit-eating grin, he stepped back warily and raised a golden brow.

"So…its love?"

Matthew's eyes widened. "Ididn'tsaythat."

"Oh man, bro." Alfred shook his head, an affectionate smile on his face as he stepped and slapped a brotherly arm around Matthew who was now blushing darkly. "You will get your man, Mattie. Even if I have to beat him over the head with a club and drag him to your feet."

"Francis will be indisposed for the rest of the evening. Afraid the ponce is completely—oh." Arthur, have just strode into the kitchen and rubbing his hands together (was that blood on his knuckles?), came to an awkward halt. "…Am I interrupting something?" He asked stiffly, taking in the sight of fairly intimate stance of the two blonds.

Alfred looked surprised for a moment, then, sparing a quizzical look at Matthew, a sudden epiphany seemed to dawn on his face.

"Of course not!" He said loudly, adding "ahahaha" as he proceeded to wrangle the other blond into a headlock and give him a rough noogie. "We're just playing around, Artie."

Matthew, thoroughly confused and somewhat annoyed as his brother's knuckles dragged across his scalp, then attempted to elbow the superpower in the gut and finally caught the other under his ribcage, earning a giggled curse.

Arthur just raised a heavy eyebrow and said nothing, though he did step forward and swat at Alfred's arm hard. "Enough of that. Leave your brother alone." He scolded, pulling his former charge away and wrapping a protective arm around his shoulders.

Alfred just watched the pair disappear, a small smirk on his face. "This just got a bit easier I think."

* * *

So, yeah, I think this chapter was shorter and more boring and for that I apologize. I hit a bit of a roadblock and I was hoping you guys could help out, since you did such an awesome job with the dream ideas. ^_^ To my readers familiar with Ottawa, what are some places Matthew could take Iggy to show himself off? Or any other attractions nearby that the two could go on a date at? Or, any ideas for dates really. Lol, I see Arthur as an old-fashioned romantic-y type of guy now that he's a little more mature (though he's still got a little delinquent in him which will come out later). And poor Mattie. He's got it bad. Tsk tsk.

Still worth continuing?


	9. Chapter 9

Omigosh, could it be? A chapter so soon? -guilty smile- I'm on a UKCanada kick guys and I was feeling inspired. Its short, but its something that needed to be done before the group has fun in Ottawa. Speaking of which, a GINORMOUS thanks to everyone who contributed ideas. Seriously, you readers rock so hard with your favs and alerts and reviews and being helpful. Cookies to all!

By the way, fair warning. Quebec and Ontario will show up next chapter probably. I'm gonna wing characterizations, but if people want to make suggestions, feel free. Also, the dates will come into play next chapter so...yay? Yay.

Pairing: eventual UKCanada

Warnings: previous warnings apply

Disclaimer: I claim no ownership.

* * *

Francis hummed cheerfully, hair pulled back as he stirred the pot of soup. Every so often, he'd pause, scrutinize the dish and toss in some salt and seasonings as he saw fit.

"You just eyeball that shit?" Alfred asked, peeking over the other's shoulder.

"I was cooking long before you could even toddle." The Frenchman explained lightly, elbowing the nosy nation back with a small frown. "Do not hover." He chided.

Alfred reluctantly stepped back with a pout. "That's rich coming from you, Frenchie." He looked away, already rummaging through Matthew's cupboards for the secret stash of maple cookies his brother hid from him. "Handsy…twisted…" Alfred muttered under his breath, squatting down and leaning over, shoving his head into the cupboard.

Francis rolled his eyes and snuck a glance at the other's denim-clad rear, a lewd smile overtaking his face. "You wound me, _biquet._" He cooed. "I am merely a _connaisseur_ of beauty. My love is very…how do you say? Hands on." The older nation smirked.

"In other words, you're a creeper." Alfred said flatly, pulling his head out of the cupboard, cobwebs sticking to his blond locks. "Damn it, Mattie. Where are those cookies?"

"I will be making _tarte _for dessert." Francis said shortly. "Do not ruin your appetite."

Alfred made a face. "What kind of tart?"

"Strawberry."

"Aw, I wanted apple." The superpower sulked, slinking over to the kitchen table and sitting down, dropping his head onto the table like a petulant child.

"_Mathieu_ likes strawberry." Francis said simply, raising his shoulder elegantly in a bored shrug. "It is an apology for ruining his moment earlier."

Alfred was quiet, before the question that had been bugging him—which he had shoved to the back of his mind like most details—slipped out. "Dude, why _are_ you here?"

Francis's hand stilled and the European nation gave a little, humorless chuckle. "Per'aps…" His accent flickered through his pained words. "…to make up for all the times I wasn't."

The two slipped into an uncomfortable silence.

"Mattie…well, I won't say he never blamed you because he totally did." Alfred began, voice soft. But Francis flinched anyways. "But it could be way worse."

"Ah, but it could be so much better." Francis replied, almost woefully. "That could be me upstairs, looking through mementos of his childhood. But I made my choices…and I must pay for them." He resumed his mechanical stirring of the soup. "I regret nothing, _tu sais._ I'd do it again, if I had the chance. But I am sorry _Mathieu_ had to suffer. I don't want him to suffer anymore. And I know Arthur, despite his problems, won't hurt him."

Alfred said nothing, head resting on his folded arms.

* * *

Arthur sneezed, coughing harshly when a poof of dust hit him directly in the face as he opened one of the many cardboard boxes gathering dust in Matthew's attic.

"Bless you." His former charge said, looking at him with concern. "If you don't want to, we don't have to do this."

"No, no my boy." Arthur wheezed, waving away the dust. "I want to…" see all the things you hid…to see everything…to know more about you because no matter the decades you spent with me, there's still so much I could know… "know." He finished, somewhat dully.

But Matthew smiled at him brilliantly and Arthur felt his cheeks heat up and he busied himself with digging through the carton. "What's this, pet?" He asked, pulling out a lovingly wrapped package.

"Oh! That's the tartan Uncle Alistair gave me." Matthew leaned over to get a closer look at the cloth Arthur slowly unwrapped. As he leaned closer to inspect it, his soft hair brushed against the Englishman's cheek and Arthur realized if he turned his head just so…

"Isn't it cool?" The blond gushed and Arthur's attention was dragged back to the gift.

"Yes, quite." He mumbled, looking at the printed fabric and remembering a time when Alistair used to wrap himself in the very same cloth and fight Arthur, tooth and nail, until the younger man dragged his brother back to his estate in chains, beaten and bloody.

"I'd almost forgotten it." Matthew said regretfully. "I'd better keep it downstairs."

Arthur would be lying if he didn't feel the slightest flicker of jealousy at the other's fondness for his bastard of a brother's gift. It didn't help that he suddenly remembered a pretty red-haired province that liked to call Alistair "Da".

But even that flicker vanished completely when Matthew suddenly exclaimed, "You used to read this book to me and Alfred before bed." And he pulled out a large, leather-bound copy of _Historia Regum Britanniae_. "Al always begged you to read from here every night…." His eyes seemed to grow distant.

Arthur remembered well. "But you always asked for something different…something new."

Which was true. Matthew had been well versed in fairy tales, courtesy of Francis who had often regaled the lad with many, often raunchy tales.

Matthew looked at him, violet eyes wide and framed by pale lashes. "And then you'd tell us of your naval battles."

"And Alfred would always fall asleep. But you would always hear it through." The Englishman finished, green eyes soft. "…You didn't hate me so much those times…"

The northern nation flushed darkly and looked away, strands of hair falling into his eyes. "I never really hated you." He admitted, his voice whispery. "I was a child and I was upset."

"You had every right, lad." Arthur reached out, squeezing the other's shoulder.

Matthew looked back at him, breath bated and Arthur realized it would be so easy to just pull the other closer and closer because Matthew was looking at him with those damnably trusting eyes and that dream was still so fresh that if he even breathed, he was assaulted with the image of Matthew pliant under him and this was so, so wrong and so, so inappropriate and—

Arthur blanched, letting go of his former colony with a jerk and he proceeded to search through the box again.

He missed the disappointed expression on the blond's face.

"Remember when you wore this?" He asked, holding up a ruffled mass of fabric with a too-wide smile.

"Unfortunately." Matthew scowled, immediately recognizing the cursed gown he had to wear for decades because he was still simply so young despite remembering a Berwald who didn't wear glasses.

"You were so charming with that little red ribbon and you would go about, holding that bear of yours." Arthur said, nostalgically. "Like a precious little porcelain doll."

Matthew was glaring now. "That was a long time ago." He grumbled, the barest of pouts playing on his lips. "I'm an adult now."

Arthur smirked and teasingly, said, "Of course, love." He leaned over, tweaking the other's errant curl.

The blond gave him another withering look and busied himself with searching through another carton, pushing up on his knees. Arthur watched the other with predatory eyes, tracing the slope of the other's back and the defined curve of his backside. "Here's your old hat." He said, tone changing to awe as he lifted up a large tricorn hat with a faded red feather drooping with dust.

Instantly, fleeting images of the dream flew through Arthur's mind and the moment he gingerly took the hat from Matthew, he wanted nothing more than to push the other down onto the dirty ground, hold his wrists and force open those pale lips and plunder that gentle mouth.

He breathed heavily, not daring to look at the other nation. "It was just a dream, old chap. Nothing more." He repeated fervently through his head.

It's Matthew. It's Matthew. Its too soon and, for the love of God, it. Is. Matthew.

It was _Matthew._ Matthew who deserved to be more than another quick fuck. Matthew who deserved far better than him.

Matthew who didn't need him when he had _him._

His fingers tightened around the brim of the hat, digging into the old fabric. His face was dark, but Matthew was already searching through another carton.

"Remember Winnie?" the blond asked softly, opening a picture album and showing him a faded picture of a dark bear. "I remember how jealous Kumanuma was when I introduced them." He giggled, and looked up at the other through his lashes. "And here's that book you gave me." He shyly pulled out a copy of _Winnie-the-Pooh._

Arthur numbly took the book.

"I've been meaning to go through this place…but I keep getting so distracted." Matthew babbled. "I'll move all this stuff into my study…these things are all important to me."

Arthur, only half-listening, opened up the book, fingers trailing down the rough page. He smiled wistfully.

The fae, normally hidden from him these days, suddenly appeared, lighting up the room with their colorful auras, the bright lights playing against the grey walls.

Matthew didn't seem to notice, though he did look around.

The fae giggled and twittered. One not so subtly nudged his arm and fluttered around the book.

Arthur cleared his throat. "Here is Edward Bear, coming downstairs now, bump bump bump, on the back of his head, behind Christopher Robin." He read, the words familiar.

Matthew's face brightened and he scooted closer, letting Arthur's voice wash over him.

The Englishman smiled at him, pushing away his dark thoughts lest they ruin the moment, and he raised an arm, beckoning Matthew who pressed up close to him and rested his head against the other's shoulder. Arthur wrapped his arm around the other, letting it slide down until it was snug against the other's narrow waist.

This was good enough.

* * *

"That is so fucking cute. I can't even stand it." Alfred murmured. "Seriously, yo. Hot damn Iggs. How do you fail and then come back with win like that?"

"You should've seen him back when he was a rake." Francis said with a chuckle. "He was much more fun back then. I once found him, still wearing his finery, in a filthy opium den with four nude women writhing around him." He sighed. "_C'était le bon vieux temps._"

Alfred stared at the older nation before shaking his head in disgust. "Europeans." He muttered disdainfully.

Kumajirou, who was resting under the superpower's chair, sleepily asked, "Who?"

"The perverts, Kumazoomarooma." Alfred supplied, ignoring the annoyed growl at the epic butchering of his name from Kumajirou.

"Oh, them." The bear said, staring at Francis directly (who just shivered at those dark eyes).

* * *

Lol, so how was it?

To think, I started this story not knowing what the fuck I was doing. ...I'd love to stuff has changed, but who am I kidding. I love this story and I'm writing it as I go along. :D But...it's a fun ride yeah?


	10. Chapter 10

Holy oreo balls. 10 chapters? _10._ Sweet Washington's ghost. This is officially my longest chapter fic. ...-is dazed-

Warnings: previous warnings apply, sexual scene, OOC-ness, potential fail

Pairing: eventual Arthur/Matthew (we are so close, lovelies)

Disclaimer: I claim no ownership.

* * *

"Winnie-the-Pooh sat down at the foot of the tree, put his head between his paws and began to think." Arthur read, voice a little raspy.

Pausing, he glanced down at the blond who was snuggled up against him. His arm now felt like a dead weight, but held Matthew steady against him.

"Always at the same part." The Englishman murmured, closing the book gently and setting it next to him softly. Reaching up, he pushed away a few honey-colored strands from Matthew's face. "Never could stay awake, could you pet?"

The younger nation just continued to doze on, chest slowly rising and falling with each breath, his face pressed into Arthur's shoulder.

"Well, there's no helping it." The sandy-haired nation sighed, shifting slightly so he could gather the other nation into his arms.

With a little trouble, he managed to hoist the other up, his knees creaking ominously with the effort. "Good heavens lad." Arthur wheezed. "I suppose all that land mass had to go somewhere. At least it's not because you gorge yourself into the triple digits like your idiot brother."

* * *

"Hey! I'm trying to set you up with my little brother." Alfred pouted, his cheeks puffing out. "And its muscle, damn it."

Francis, now preparing the tart, merely chuckled.

"Shut up Frenchie!"

* * *

Teetering down the stairs and fervently praying to the Powers That Be (whatever they be) that they make it to Matthew's room in one piece, Arthur, Matthew held precariously in his arms, slowly made his way out of the attic and down the hallway.

* * *

"Should we not help them?" Francis asked, coming around and glancing at the laptop.

"Nah." Alfred shrugged, already clicking out of the video feed. "I gotta shower."

"And so will Arthur. He is dusty from the attic."

"Yeah. I know."

"And _Mathieu_ only has one guest shower in this house."

"Exactly." The superpower smirked, already dashing out of the kitchen.

Watching the younger nation disappear, Francis couldn't hold back a pleased grin. And with a soft laugh, the European flipped the laptop back on and switched feeds, so he could open the one in Matthew's room.

* * *

"And down you go." Arthur placed Matthew on the bed, watching fondly as the blond slumbered on. Then, realizing that he was coated with the dust, the former empire grimaced. "Now, I believe a shower is in order—"

And, right on cue, the sound of rushing water filled the house. Already realizing what happened, the Englishman swore and rushed to the guest bedroom, already pounding on the door.

"Alfred! Alfred!" He snapped, face reddening. "Why the bloody fuck do you need to shower?"

"Because I need to smell like the Old Spice Man at all times!" Alfred called back, before continuing in a deep voice. "Arthur, look down, back up, where are you?"

"Git!"

"You're on a boat—"

"Alfred—"

"I'm on a boat, motherfucker, don't you ever forget!"

"Get out _now_—"

"The boat is now diamonds."

"—?—"

"Anything is possible when I smell like Old Spice and not like a lady like _you_."

"I do not smell like a lady and I can't very well use Matthew's—"

"I'm on a horse."

With one last snarl and kick to the unmoving door, the Englishman stormed off to get a change of clothes, still muttering epithets under his breath.

* * *

When Arthur tiptoed back into Matthew's room, the blond was still fast asleep. His polar bear companion—what was its name?—was curled around him protectively, watching the other nation with bored, dark eyes.

"European?" It queried.

"Yes." Arthur answered, not really taken-aback but still wary.

"Pervert?"

Refusing to answer a talking animal, Arthur stormed into the bathroom and locked the door, cheeks very red.

"Stupid bear." He grumbled, taking a good look around him.

Matthew's bathroom was fairly spacious and tidy. Arthur's flush darkened further when he glanced at the vanity counter and realized it was the perfect height to bend someone over with straining anything…

"Keep it together man." He whispered, reaching down to undo his trousers. "In and out, just in…and…" He made an odd choked noise, head dropping down.

Well, that was a poor choice of words.

* * *

Finally making it into the shower, the older nation swiftly flipped open the faucet and the showerhead, sighing happily when the warm water hit him. Once he was thoroughly soaked, the Englishman reached for a bottle of shampoo.

Maple-scented.

He blinked water out of his eyes, squinting down at the label. So, this was what Matthew used. He recalled the soft scent that always seemed to follow Matthew no matter what. Unable to help himself, Arthur closed his eyes and flipped the bottle open, breathing slowly, remembering the sweet smell, his senses tingling in reminiscence

Okay, it wasn't just his senses tingling.

"Blast." He hissed, glaring down at his traitorous member. "You could not have chosen a _worse_ place."

Intent on ignoring his own desire (he refused to desecrate one's private loo), he shampooed his hair militarily, rinsed, before conditioning and soaping his body—legs to chest to arms to neck—and rinsing.

But, with the soapy water sluicing down his back, his erection refused to be abated through sheer willpower.

"I was the goddamn British Empire." He snapped. "I am not some lusty, randy old codger who wants to shag a nation less than half his age, no matter how sweet…"

In his mind's eye, he could clearly see Matthew, warm and complacent, pressed against his side, fingers curled into his thigh as he listened raptly.

"…no matter how attractive…"

Matthew smiling bashfully in a dark green sweater, subconsciously tugging the soft wool from his neck.

"…no matter how…"

And he can't block the flood of images.

Matthew dressed in full RCMP regalia, Stetson tilted, boots polished and gleaming, scarlet and gold and proud.

Matthew wearing only a simple cotton shirt and beige breeches, hair pulled into a neat twist, pulling himself onto the horse unassisted and then smirking down at Arthur, before digging his heels into the beast's flank.

Matthew leaning over the portside wall of the ship, waving down as Arthur argued with some merchants.

And his hand is sliding down until he has a sure grip on his cock and Arthur lets his head fall back against the tile wall, eyes shut, as he groans, his grip almost painful.

And he can't ignore the memories of Matthew—less happy and more broken.

Matthew kneeling in poppies.

Matthew bringing the butt of his rifle down some faceless soldier, face stoic even as warm blood splatters across the bridge of his nose.

Matthew throwing a teapot across the room, snarling in French, struggling even as his Boss holds him back and tells Arthur to go, just go now.

And if he wasn't damned before, he surely is now because, cor blimey, those moments just feed the blaze until it burns higher and brighter and—

"Fuck, fuck, fuck." He muttered, eyes screwed shut, pumping himself with sure strokes.

And, it's so clear, he can imagine Matthew right there with him. All pale and wet and shivering, his golden hair plastered to his face.

He'd sigh and mewl as Arthur pulled himself closer, hands gripping his hips. He'd kiss and kiss and kiss until their feeble lungs screamed for air and then Arthur would ravage that pretty mouth.

And it wouldn't even matter if Matthew was taller, he'd fit so perfectly with him.

And Arthur would push his precious boy against the tile, lifting one long, lean leg and wrap it around his waist. Matthew would scramble for an anchor and he'd reach up, grab the shower bar with one hand and grasp Arthur's shoulder with his other and he'd beg and plea to just _hurry, please please please_ but he, Arthur, had centuries of experience and he'd put it to damn good use.

(His strokes picked up and Matthew's name fell like a mantra from his lips.)

(Arthur had never even prayed with as much conviction.)

And he'd push closer and closer and Matthew would tremble just so, his muscles quivering—biceps pulled taut and quads flexing—and he'd moan when Arthur would bite his nipples—keen and curse—and coo when an apologetic tongue would lave against the abused flesh. And Arthur would thrust up—not enter, not yet because he had yet to prepare his darling for such—slick and steady so that their dicks would slide against each other, smooth and slick and they'd gasp—

Arthur gasped, thumb moving over the head of his penis, his climax rushing through him as he came, the rush of the now cold water drowning out his cry.

Standing there, slumped back against the wall, watching his semen swirl down the drain, he panted, feeling incredibly filthy and disgusted and haunted by a painful sense of wrongness.

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, Matthew is locked away in his room, refusing to speak with Arthur because the hurt is still too fresh.

"…you don't deserve him, old chap." Arthur whispered. "Be what he wants, not what you want. He's happy. You have no right to ruin it."

* * *

Dressed and hair damp, Arthur stepped out of the washroom and was relieved to see Matthew still asleep with his polar bear slumbering next to him.

Moving closer, Arthur sighed, watching his former charge.

"Oh my darling lad." He murmured, bending down and cupping his former colony's cheek. "Have you cast some spell to bewitch? Or am I simply taking advantage of your kindness once again?" He smiled faintly. "Do you want me to want you? Or have you found happiness with another?"

Matthew didn't stir, so Arthur smiled fondly and leaned down, pressing a fleeting kiss to the other's cheek.

Arthur used to kiss Alfred and Matthew good night once upon a time. Alfred would always rub off the kiss with a pout. Matthew would always turn into the kiss, his lips brushing Arthur's chin.

(Later Arthur learned that Matthew would kiss Francis good night as well and the habit would not fade.)

And, just like in childhood, Matthew's face turned sleepily towards Arthur.

Arthur, less than a hair's breadth from the other's face, couldn't help but think "it can't hurt."

First, a kiss to the corner of Matthew's lips and, when the nation still didn't awake, Arthur moved towards the other's lips and pressed a little harder, eliciting a sleepy murmur from the blond.

* * *

"I hate this self-sacrificing nature of his." Francis said with a frown. "It is hardly attractive. He used to never hesitate like this."

"…He cares." Alfred said quietly, thoughtful. "He can't ignore it anymore."

* * *

Old Spice commercials ftw. XD (Did anyone catch the Lonely Island reference?)

Has anyone ever fallen for someone who showed the slightest interest in them? Unfortunately, thats Iggy. But he really does love Matthew. He never not loved Mattew. He's just British. :|

So...I know I promised dates and provinces, but then I came up with the shower scene...Is that acceptable compensation for no frolicking in Ottawa and Quebec and Ontario having a fight?

Right now, Arthur thinks Matt and Alfred are a _thing_. Arthur likes Matthew but feels bad about it (why? Because its Iggy and he kinda sorta raised Matthew... he wouldn't really have a problem, except he's quite fond of Matthew because he was a good son). So, they're having the same issues kinda-ish.

But Francis and Alfred are gonna fix that. Oh, they are going to fix the _shit_ out of that. BWHAHAHAHAHA~


	11. Chapter 11

Hey ya'll! Thanks so much for still keeping up with this fic of mine! I really appreciate all the reviews and supports (dude, over 200? holy cow). So, here's an extra long chapter for you all.

On a side note, I realized I had mentioned Toronto a few chapters back. Well, _fuck that._ To be honest, Francis just showed up wherever Matt was. Matthew wasn't expecting a visit so he was in Ottawa.

Also, my friend and I have decided to roadtrip to Canada this summer. Originally, I suggested Ottawa 'cause its the capital (Hah, did you think we didn't know that?) but then I actually looked at a map... I greatly underestimated how big Canada is... OTL. And, apparently, I also don't know geography because Ontario is way too east. So, we'll probably head up to Winnipeg (because that is closer to me by like 8 or 9 hours as opposed to the 5 I thought because I can't fucking read so no more pointing it out kthx). Hopefully I'll have a better experience there than in Toronto.

Fuck Toronto. :I Sorry to all my readers who are from Toronto, but your city ruined my trip to Canada. I went a summer or so ago and I was so excited. I learned the Canadian National Anthem too and could even name all the provinces and their capitals. And at the airport, I was like, "look signs in French!" and "CENTER IS SPELLED CENTRE OMGYAY". Then we started driving and my expressions went from :D to :) to :| to :( . ...Its just a cleaner version of our cities down in the US... I guess I'm not being fair. I have family who I hate in Toronto so I can't take my hate out on the city because I didn't really get to explore... And Niagara Falls was awesome and everyone was quite nice. And I tried Tim Hortons (om nom nom).

But fuck Toronto for killing my delicious fantasies of a Canadian adventure! -rawr- We'll try again in Winnipeg, fuck yeah.

Also...the provinces don't make an appearance this chapter. In fact, I'm rethinking their appearance altogether (I cannot fathom a reason why they would actually need to show up now that I seriously think about it XD).

Warnings: previous warnings apply

Pairing: eventual UK/Can

Disclaimer: I claim no ownership.

* * *

When Arthur makes his way back to the kitchen, Alfred and Francis are sitting at the oak table wearing identical unreadable expressions. The Englishman spares them a curious look, one thick eyebrow raised slightly, before filling up the cheerful mustard-colored teapot sitting on the stove with water and leaving it to heat. Then he rummages around in the cupboards, finds a tin of tea leaves—a gift from Parvati to Matthew, no doubt, because judging by the smell its something much more expensive and of better quality that Arthur usually has to buy now because he can't exactly force the Indian woman to hand it over like he used to.

Arthur sighed, drumming his fingers lightly against the granite countertop. Sometimes he really missed being an Empire. Granted he still had some prestige—he lost a good chunk after than Suez nonsense—and was still powerful _enough_ in this day and age, but it wasn't the same. The tea wasn't as aromatic as it was when he personally nicked it from Parvati's or China's garden. His food wasn't nearly as flavorful as it was when he got first pick of spices from his colonies' homes. His clothes weren't as comfortable as they were when the cotton was plucked and shipped in from his colonies. Diamonds were brighter when India and/or Zimbabwe couldn't say no.

When he was an Empire, there was none of this playing nice to get the job done. Diplomacy was keeping his pistol holstered in exchange for good behavior. Those were the days he could relax with a nice strong class of brandy after demolishing Spain or France (especially that frog) or the Netherlands.

He smiled nostalgically, _Pax Britannia_…jolly good time.

Then, frowning, he reflected on the slumbering nation upstairs. If he were still an Empire, it wouldn't matter if Matthew were with Alfred. All he would have to do is snap his fingers and Matthew would get on his knees and beg Arthur to be appropriately taken. Granted, there might be some subtle threats and carelessly mentioned suggestions about things that would affect the boy's people and the violet-eyed nation would be _convinced_ to obey.

There wouldn't be any of this guilt about how he had treated Matthew—because guilt was simply unthinkable at the zenith of his power. There would be no issue of Canada's sovereignty because Canada was still under his domain in a way. He wouldn't have to hold himself back because there was a chance Matthew would reciprocate his affections.

Reciprocation wouldn't even matter.

And then disgust and shame flare in the pit of his stomach and the Brit feels almost ill at the twist his thoughts had taken. Matthew would hate him in that silent, passive way of his. He would let his hurt and fury smolder and stew and ferment until revolution was ripe and Arthur had no illusions about what Matthew would do.

The teakettle screeched loudly, steam shooting into the air and dragging the sandy-haired nation out of his thoughts. Pouring the tea and letting it steep, Arthur finished making his tea and turned around to see that the blonds at the table were still watching him.

"What?" He asked curtly, still standing at the counter, his stance stiffening defensively. "What are you wankers staring for?"

Francis smiled innocently, long fingers tapping the shut laptop next to him. "Does it bother you, _mon lapin_?"

Arthur bristled. "You bother me."

"Who does not bother you?"

"Well, Cristiano for one and of course Matthew has never been a bother." The Englishman looked thoughtful. "And Japan is a decent fellow." He scowled. "But both of you have earned my enmity, thus you gits have the dubious honor of being my least favorite—What's with that hand gesture, you bloody wino?"

Francis who was staring away and making a 'blah blah blah' gesture with his right hand (moving his four fingers and thumb together to form a mouth), rolled his eyes.

"Who's Cristiano?" Alfred interrupted.

Arthur stared at him incredulously. "Portugal, you daft—"

"Who?"

"The country next to Spain on the Iberian peninsula." Francis supplied helpfully.

"…You mean that's a country?"

"Do you ever read a map?" Arthur huffed, looking incredibly embarrassed of being in the same vicinity as Alfred.

Alfred smirked. "Why would I ever read a map? I'm a hero and heroes innately know where to go and how to get there."

"You're an idiot."

"No, I'm American." The blond stressed with a patient smile.

"Same thing." Arthur snapped, more bite to his words than usual. Emerald eyes sharp, he glared at the unrepentant little upstart wondering just what Matthew could see in him.

Alright, perhaps he couldn't really hold it against Matthew since Alfred was his neighbor and he had introduced the two in the beginning. Oh and the whole border thing but aside from that (and Alfred's power and wealth and annoying ability to not mind his own fucking business), what could the dear Canadian see in the superpower?

"And you're fat too." Arthur added, relishing the indignant squawk from the younger nation. He sipped his tea casually, watching as the other fumbled for a comeback.

Alfred, on the other hand, was rapidly going over the information he had learned earlier and was inferring something he had been slowly beginning to pick up on (amazingly enough, yes).

Arthur was holding back, partially for his own personal reasons (stuff Alfred filed away as "Gay Excuses that Arthur uses because he is Stupid") but also because he thought Alfred and Mattie were a _thing._

(Okay, so Francis explained it to him before Arthur came downstairs but Alfred would've gotten it eventually 'cause he's awesome and its not really his fault his education system has gone downhill and shut up he still has the best and the brightest come to him for higher education so _there_.)

"Yeah, well you're just jealous Matthew and I sleep together." He shouted triumphantly.

It wasn't really a lie. Matt and him did sleep together…just on opposite sides of the bed with their clothes on and a wall of pillows between them.

(Matthew still didn't quite trust Alfred. Honestly, York was over a century ago.)

Francis sighed, cradling his face in his hands. "_Mon Dieu…_" He muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. He had given the younger nation an entire lecture on delicacy and subtlety (because he had fine-tuned the entire game) but apparently the entire speech was too subtle for the boy.

Arthur's grip on the mug tightened and his eyes narrowed.

Alfred continued, smile cheerful with childlike-honestly. "Do you know Matthew's a cuddler? And that he wears my clothes sometimes?"

Okay, so Matthew just liked to cuddle pillows. And of course they wore each other's clothes because they were the same size and they did laundry at each other's house and sometimes Alfred wore Matthew's stuff (usually all his stuff from Roots) whenever he traveled abroad.

It didn't help, that at that very moment, Matthew ambled into the kitchen, holding Kumajirou, wearing a baggy pair of torn jeans (Levis) and a faded blue shirt with a Superman logo emblazoned across the chest (having changed out of his sleep-rumpled clothes to escape a lecture from his former guardian's).

Alfred had worn the same shirt under his bomber jacket at the last G8 Summit.

"And he can tuck his ankles behind his head!" Alfred shouted, blue eyes vivid behind his steel-rimmed glasses. Then, jumping to his feet, the blond bolted out of the kitchen, slapping Matthew on the rear as he did so, and ran like hell to the basement, door slamming behind him.

The Canadian, violet eyes still bleary from his nap, just stood there, confused. "What—" He began, but was cut off when Arthur slammed down his mug and stormed out of the kitchen, his expression dark. "Arthur?" He called, turning after the nation. "Did you and Alfred fight?" He asked, voice husky from sleep.

But Arthur didn't answer, choosing instead to follow his former colony to the basement. Matthew made as though to follow, but Francis slipped up behind him and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"I have made _tarte_, _mon petit_." The Frenchman said softly, leaning close to his once son. "Your favorite~"

"But what about Al and Arthur?" Matthew, now catching whiffs of strawberry mingled with the other's cologne, looked back towards his basement.

"I suspect your brother has a plan, _chou._" He snorted delicately. "Though who knows? Your brother is…_je ne sais quoi._" With a fluid shrug, he pulled a half-hearted Matthew into the kitchen. "But he wants you happy, as do I."

"So, you know?" Matthew asked cautiously, taking a seat at the table.

Francis made a wounded noise, pressing his palm against his heart. "Has everyone forgotten that love is my specialty?" His lips twisted into a pout as he sliced a large slice of tart for the Canadian. Turning around, he winked conspiratorially. "A little dessert before lunch never hurt, _non_?"

Matthew smiled softly at the continued dramatics of his former guardian. At least he was taking it well.

"You have my support, _Mathieu_." Gracefully placing the plate in front of the nation with a fork, he slipped into the chair just diagonal from Matthew. "Even if it is that hoodlum." Francis added, with a grimace. "At least you inherited my looks and superior cooking ability. And my beautiful language…" He looked at Matthew briefly. "…well, somewhat."

The Canadian just glared at him.

* * *

"Like the Man Cave, Iggy?"

Arthur paused, his fury evaporating as he looked around the half-finished basement and dim lighting. "…This place is horrendous."

"Its not that bad." Alfred huffed, hands on his hips.

"It smells foul."

"Yeah, well Mattie doesn't come down here so who would clean it?"

"…this is Matthew's house."

"Yeah, but this is my space." Alfred grinned. "Matthew let me crash here a few times back during that whole thing with Vietnam."

"That war, you mean?"

Alfred rolled his eyes. "She got over it." Then, leveling a serious look at the older nation, the blond began to speak again. "Why'd you follow me?"

Taken aback, the Englishman didn't really have an answer. He had just followed the other, intent on doing something and pushed by the annoyance bubbling up inside him at the other's words regarding Matthew.

"You…you…should be more respectful towards Matthew, git." Arthur chided.

Alfred's expression brightened.

Fuck yeah, he was right. Arthur did care.

Now to make him spit it out.

* * *

"Perverts." Kumajirou said quietly, bumping into Matthew's leg with his cold nose. "Them."

"Yes, yes." Matthew answered easily, reaching down and scratching the bear behind the ear.

"Especially him." The polar bear added when Alfred and Arthur re-entered the kitchen. "He touched you."

Arthur made an odd choking noise. "I-I carried him to bed." He explained defensively.

The Canadian smiled. "Thank you for that Arthur. I hope I wasn't too heavy."

"Its no problem, lad." Arthur said easily. He noticed the tart Matthew was eating. "That's your favorite, isn't it?"

Matthew paused, a forkful of dessert less than an inch from his mouth.

Francis and Alfred, wearing matching incredulous looks, stared at the Englishman who merely explained, "Because strawberries are red and red is his favorite color." With a gentle smile at the young nation, he added, "And you used to pick strawberries on my estate in Eton, remember?"

"My shirt would always be ruined because—"

"You snuck berries when you thought I wasn't looking."

Matthew laughed at the memory and the Brit, still reminiscing, added, "And you'd only eat strawberries for the longest time because of that ill-fated apple pie incident."

"You tried to make apple pie. But, you forgot to add sugar." Matthew continued, fork coming down slowly, a smile blossoming on his lips. "And the filling burnt so it tasted like ash."

"And you poured maple syrup all over it."

"And I begged you to never cook with apples again."

"And that's why you hate apple anything." Arthur finished, a fond expression on his face.

"I didn't think you'd remember all that." Matthew said quietly, licking his lips and tasting the sweetness of the tarte.

"Of course I do." The other replied, conviction palpable in his tone.

Francis and Alfred, exchanging glances, slipped out and left the other two to their privacy.

* * *

"Next step and, hopefully, the final one." Alfred said excitedly, pushing Francis playfully against the hallway wall and peering around the corner towards the kitchen.

The Frenchman, with a good-natured shrug at the other's puppy-like behavior, just said, "Oh? Shall we push them into a little date?"

"Of course not—wait, no, you're right."

"Per'aps, we all go on a little outing and then leave those two to their own devices?"

"…Can you read my mind?"

Francis gave the superpower an unimpressed look. "To think the fate of the world rested on your shoulders."

"Hey now!" Alfred glared. "It still does, Frenchie."

"Don't remind me."

* * *

"I want to go explore Ottawa!" Alfred burst out, interrupting Arthur and Matthew's conversation. "Since you already showed me your capital and shit—"

"I haven't showed you my capital." Matthew corrected slowly, a quizzically twist to his mouth.

"Um, yeah, you did bro. Toronto, duh." Alfred snorted. "And you say I can't read a map."

"Toronto isn't…." Matthew trailed off, before understanding dawned in his eyes. "Oh right. Yeah, I guess I have showed you my capital."

He also didn't remind Alfred that he had been to Ottawa before.

Francis and Arthur gave him curious looks but he just shook his head. If Al wanted to believe Toronto was his capital, so be it.

And with the way Ontario acted, Toronto might as well be his most vital region.

"Awesome bro!" Alfred practically skipped over and drew Matthew into a hug, immediately sparking a bit of ire in Arthur.

Matthew flushed and proceeded to try and remove the octopus that was his neighbor and brother.

"That is quite enough of that." Arthur scolded, standing up and dragging Alfred away with more force than necessary by his collar. "Stop annoying your brother."

* * *

"What are you doing?" Francis hissed. "You will make him give up."

"Or I'll make him get his ass into gear." Alfred retorted. "Like Artie would ever willing to go down without a fight with me."

* * *

"I was thinking, maybe it would be better if we waited until tomorrow." Matthew suggested during lunch. "Since Arthur and Francis did get in just a few hours ago. You two must be exhausted."

"Fuck their exhaustion." Alfred sulked, visibly upset at the idea that his grand plan would be put off because of jet lag. "I want to go now." He whined.

"Eat your soup and shut up." Matthew ordered, violet eyes stern. "Or I won't tell you where I put the cookies."

Alfred, pouting, began to slurp his soup again, muttering something along the lines of "…whole century older and treats me like I'm a kid…Canadians are nice, my ass…"

"If it wouldn't be too much of an inconvenience, my boy." Arthur cut in. "We have reservations for…" He paused, green eyes drifting to the side as he wondered just how long he was going to be gone.

He was too busy struggling with Francis to ask how long he was going to be kidnapped this time.

"A week." Francis answered.

"Oh, but you can't stay in a hotel." Matthew protested softly, already frowning. "This isn't my biggest house but I have two spare rooms since Ontario is in Toronto."

"Nonsense, my boy—"

"_Merci, Mathieu._" Francis interrupted with a charming smile. "I forgot to make reservations anyways."

* * *

The rest of the day passed uneventfully, thankfully. Francis, surprisingly, was on his best behavior and didn't even flinch when Matthew casually mentioned that just because Gatineau was just across the way, they would not be making a day trip to Quebec (and that there was a reason Matthew had refused to meet his father figures in Montreal and, now that he really thought about it, maybe he should've told Francis to meet him in Toronto or even Vancouver because meeting near Quebec was really stupid and he hoped that Alexandre was not planning on dropping by to ask for his allowance).

Alfred had promptly disappeared to his Man Cave after stealing one of Matthew's notebooks and three-dozen pens (because there was a chance that over half of them were dried up).

Arthur, at least, stayed behind to help Matthew clean up. This time he washed and the younger blond dried and he smiled and listened as Matthew rambled on about his currency and his banks and his provinces and politicians.

And, somewhere deep inside, he had a feeling that Matthew was trying to take advantage of his undivided attention and that the boy most likely thought that this wouldn't last and he'd be pushed to the recesses of Arthur's memory soon enough.

And, truly, Arthur knew that he might not ever be able to make it up to his former charge but he knew he'd try. Even if Matthew was just being kind, even if he wanted to keep him at arm's length, Arthur wanted to begin anew.

So, cutting off Matthew's rant on hockey, the former Empire reached out and entwined his wet fingers with Matthew's and pulled the other's hand to his lips. "I think you're brilliant." He murmured, kissing the other's knuckles. "Thought you needed the reminder."

The intimation is enough to cause a blossoming of pink across Matthew's cheeks and the younger nation stammers awkwardly, in no hurry to wipe the moisture from his fingers when Arthur reluctantly releases him—burying the urge press the violet-eyed boy against the counter and teasing out more of that fetching blush. Instead, he quickly dunks a bowl into the lukewarm, soapy water and scrubs it furiously, rinsing, and then hands it to Matthew, the water dripping off the dish and soaking the tile.

"These dishes won't dry themselves." He gives a forced laugh when Matthew doesn't take the bowl immediately.

* * *

"Faaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaail." Alfred drawls, sprawled on the lumpy couch in the basement as he watches the happenings on his laptop. The notebook is open in his lap, the once pristine pages now covered in chicken scratch, arrows, and messily drawn stick figures in sexual positions with the odd penis here and there.

He had been trying to draw out a game plan for tomorrow, but Arthur finally making a move and then dropping the ball before tripping over it and falling flat on his face had distracted him.

"Thank your lucky stars you have the hero on your side, Eyebrows." He muttered, pointing at the screen. "Because I'm going to get you and Mattie together or else I'm not Alfred F. Jones, the U-S-of fucking A!"

* * *

Matthew is in the middle of mixing kibble with tuna and maple syrup when Alfred bursts into the kitchen.

"Cookies are in the pantry behind the canned vegetables." Matthew said without prompting, squatting down to give Kumajirou his food.

"Not what I was gonna ask, but good to know." Alfred grins, already at the pantry and pulling out a box of maple cookies. "Oh, hey, they're shaped like leaves."

"Please don't eat them all." His brother sighed, standing up and moving to wash his hands. "So, what do you need, brother?"

"Did you know Artie thinks we're fucking?"

"Half of the world thinks we are." Matthew gave him a 'where the hell have you been?' look. "Hungary has already published a thesis on why we must be."

Alfred, mouth full of cookies, just gives the other a blank look, earning a sigh.

"Every since she found out the Italy brothers sleep together, she's convinced all sibling nations are running off to the broom closet. Though why Arthur would think that, I have no clue." He scowled. "How many times do I need to torch your Boss's house to make people understand I am not your underling? I am not your bitch. I am not having sex with you. I will never have sex with you. Ever. Also, I am not apart of you. I am not _you_. Clearly, this is all your fault because you—"

"Bro, bro!" Alfred waved his hands in surrender. "I get it, dude. Not me, no sex, you Canada. Geez." He crossed his arms. "You sound like a broken record sometimes, Mattie. You can keep bitching after you hear my awesome plan."

"Fine. What's your plan?"

"Tomorrow take us to all your best spots—the most interesting, the prettiest, the coolest, etcetera. We'll show Daddy how his precious little boy has become a man." Here Alfred waggled his eyebrows suggestively, earning snort of laughter from Matthew and a punch to the shoulder. "You stick close to him because I haven't quite figured out how to prove to him that we aren't doing the nasty—though that'll be hard because I'm such a hot piece of ass and who wouldn't want me?"

"I don't want you."

"That's because you're too busy with your Daddy complex to notice all this." Alfred gestured to himself. "But its okay, broski, I'm a lone wolf—a majestic eagle soaring above everyone, fated to live a lonely life of adventure, just me and the blue skies." He sighed dreamily. "Bachelorhood is the shit, man."

Matthew decided not to crush his brother's romanticism by reminding him that his single status was because he was a better one-night stand than long-term relationship material.

* * *

The European nations and Matthew were the first to retire for the night, leaving Alfred to watch an all-night action movie fest.

The other nations found him the next morning, sleeping heavily on the sofa, popcorn scattered around him as he snored, his glasses askew.

"Oh, he missed _Top Gun._" Matthew said off-handedly, smirking briefly when Alfred shot up and said, "Nooo! That movie is a classic!"

After breakfast, once all the nations were dressed, Matthew, very shyly, suggested, "Would the National Gallery be alright? Then we could get lunch and decide from there?"

"Sounds lovely." Arthur replied, not waiting for any response from Francis or Alfred. "Lead the way, lad."

"Someone is trying a little too hard." Francis whispered teasingly.

"Shut your bloody trap." The sandy-haired nation hissed in response, poking the Frenchman in the chest roughly.

"I am merely pleased you are making an effort." The older nation patted the other's shoulder patronizingly. "I think you have almost got it."

"What are you blathering on about?"

Francis smiled innocently, azure eyes flicking towards Matthew who was trying to explain to Alfred that, yes, he did have his own art and no, it is not all pseudo-French or pseudo-English so shut up, you hoser.

"They are not what you think they are." The blond said lightly. "_Bonne chance._"

And then he glided away, wrapping a fatherly arm around the shoulders of each nation leaving the English nation to watch them with a thoughtful expression.

* * *

"We have some mid-century modernist works by some of your people, Arthur, if you'd care to see them." Matthew suggested, keeping up with the brisk pace his former guardian set as they approached the stunning glass and granite museum.

"I'd much rather see works by your people, lad." Arthur shook his head. "I daresay, this is a beautiful building."

Matthew flushed at the praise.

"…Holy shit! Giant spider!"

"_Calme-toi._"

"Don't you have one too, Al?"

"Don't embarrass us, prat."

* * *

"I'm gonna go check out the Warhols. Man, I miss that guy."

"And I shall make sure he does not…be himself."

And, with that, Matthew and Arthur were left alone.

* * *

"I really like this one." Matthew said quietly, gesturing to a painting of a pine. "The strong colors and the contrasts…"

Now, by this point, Arthur had seen quite a few landscapes and was feeling a bit hot around the collar. Essentially, he was seeing artistic renderings—beautiful renderings, no less—of Canada, of Matthew and, well, frankly, he felt a bit like a pervert.

Nonetheless, he examined the painting with a critical eye (no, he was not completely cultureless, he had his artists thankyouverymuch).

"Its quite good." You can see the devotion in each stroke, the love in each piece, and the overall adoration of the artist for his subject, is what he wanted to add but a sudden burst of self-consciousness prevented him. Yet, he managed to push out, "I can see your autumn."

Its only later he realizes how shifty he sounds and he resists the urge to slap his forehead with great strength. But Matthew just chuckles—musical and sweet—and pulls him to the next painting, letting the excited people behind them have a better look.

* * *

Alfred paused in front of a painting of a pale sunrise rising behind a lake and some cliffs, a rosy blush at the tips of his ears.

"…Oh. My. God." He stammered, horror dripping from his words and realization clawing at his eyes as he tried to look away from the picture. "Its like one big nudie magazine."

Francis laughed richly, admiring the painting. "So it is…" He said lustily, blue eyes gleaming.

Alfred didn't know whether to cover his eyes or cover Francis's eyes to protect his brother's innocence.

Of course, the fact that Matthew suggested the gallery in the first place really brought his innocence into question.

* * *

Matthew smiled innocently, violet eyes guileless as he brought Arthur to yet another landscape.

"Krieghoff was quite fond of landscapes." He explained casually.

"Was he?" Arthur asked, albeit a little weakly, as his eyebrows trembled slightly.

"Oh very. Here's one of his more 'springtime' oil paintings."

* * *

I know nothing about art.

So, National Gallery. Next chapter the day trip begins in full.

Who's excited?~~~


	12. Chapter 12

Okay, so not as long as last time, but not too bad. Lol, I was thinking that this would be the second to last chapter but I was in no mood to make this insanely long. So, there will be perhaps 2 more chapters after this and then I'll have to put this (insane) story to rest. -sniffles- I feel like I'm just dragging this out now but...you guys don't mind, yeah?

And thank you for the overwhelming response from the last chapter. You guys rock so hard!

Also, I will never ever stop writing UK/Can. I thought about it, seriously, and realized I don't really like pairings in Hetalia but I like Canada paired up in Hetalia. Because I find it inherently unfair that the guy gets no love (not even from his daddies? WTF is that shit? He needs to break some heads pronto yo). So...I will make sure he gets love. I will make sure he gets love all night long. -pervy smile- -bricked-

Also, thanks to all who suggested. You saved my life. I wish I could thank each of you personally, but I really hate calling people out. But you'll know who you are and know I am grateful~ :D Also, please don't point out my mistakes with the places and sites in Ottawa. I worked (and will continue to) work off of the suggestions I was given, wikipedia, and whatever else I can find on the internet. I've never been to Ottawa so excuse my lack of knowledge.

Lastly, did Mattie know about the nudes equalling landscapes? ...I dunno, but he is part French _honhonhonhon~ -_shot-

Note: Guys, this fic takes place in spring/summer. I know people can skate on the Rideau canal in the winter. It is not winter. Do not ask if that is what they're doing otherwise I will be miffed.

Pairing: eventual UK/Can (we're getting there...slowly but surely...)

Warnings: previous warnings apply

* * *

"I quite enjoyed the landscapes." Francis said casually, a devilish grin on his face. "What was your favorite—"

"Piss off." Arthur snapped, arms crossed as he pointedly ignored the other European by looking through some key chains.

"_Mathieu_ has grown, _non_?" The older blond continued blithely. "His lush prairies and beautiful bodies of fresh water and bountiful—"

"You're a piss-poor excuse of a nation—"

"—luscious contours—"

"—libertine bastard—"

"—the way the colors of the sun reflect off the rock faces—"

"—promiscuous, cowardly, wine-guzzling derelict—"

"—such pretty scenery—"

Arthur suddenly snarled, whirling and grabbing the other nation by the collar of his button up and pulling him up close to hiss darkly, "Belt. Up. You. Wanker." His voice was dripping with barely concealed anger.

Francis merely smiled innocently. "I'm merely expressing my pride at how well _mon chou_ has grown."

Arthur snorted, reluctantly releasing the European. "Right." He rolled his eyes.

"Your disbelief wounds me, _cher._ And I even bought you a gift."

The Englishman raised a thick eyebrow, glancing at the other nation with a vaguely uninterested look. "Oh?"

With a flourish and a downright naughty grin, the French nation revealed the print he had been hiding behind his back. "_Voilà_!" He sang, snapping the poster open right in front of Arthur's face.

The Englishman's face ignited, emerald eyes wide and eyebrows somewhere near his hairline.

* * *

"Don't look at them! Perverts! All of you! Have you no shame?" Alfred scolded, throwing his hands up and effectively blocking the wall of postcards from the disgruntled customers. "Look away! Look away!" He screeched, blue eyes positively manic behind his steel-rimmed glasses.

Matthew stood next to him, one hand covering his face in embarrassment in between bouts of trying to keep Alfred from getting punched in the face by one of his more aggressive citizens.

"Go on! Get!"

"Al…just…just stop, please."

"What are you looking at? Keep walkin' buddy!"

"Please excuse him. He's American." Matthew explained to the irritated man. "And an idiot. I apologize on his behalf."

"Hey! I see that smile, pervert. Keep your eyes to yourself."

"Are you talking to me?"

"Yeah, I'm talking to you, _Frenchie._"

"Oh god, Alfred shut up or else I will shove your face into the wall." Matthew hissed, dragging down his resisting brother's arms.

Unfortunately, the superpower was about to go head to head with the disgruntled citizen.

"Who are you calling a Frenchie?" the man snapped, accent distinctly Quebecois.

Thankfully (or not), before a fight could erupt between the two, they were interrupted by the sound of glass shattering.

Then Matthew heard Arthur bellow, "I'M GOING TO BLOODY KILL YOU FROG."

* * *

"Thank you for visiting, but please don't ever come back." The leading Mountie said politely. "Thank you kindly."

Then, the RCMP officers left them, Matthew staring at the retreating backs of the red-clad men with a heartbroken glimmer in his violet eyes and a trembling lower lip.

"Hey, Matt, you have one of those uniforms, don't—"

"Don't. Talk." The blond grit out, hands clenching and unclenching into fists. "Just…don't say a word."

Alfred exchanged nervous looks with Arthur, who was still holding the painting copy, and Francis, who was trying to brush glass out of his hair.

"Just stay here…and don't move or I'll throw you all into the canal." Matthew said lightly, slowly walking away without looking back.

When the blond had walked far enough away, Alfred turned to Arthur. "You should follow him."

Arthur gave him an incredulous look. "Have you gone barking mad?"

"Just do it, Artie."

"And if he throws me into the canal?"

"Don't worry. He'll probably let you almost drown and then pull you out. He'll let us drown."

Arthur's expression remained unconvinced so Francis added, "He'll probably be more inclined to forgive you as well."

Thinking it over, the Brit shoved the rolled up poster at Francis and starting walking in the same direction as Matthew, staying out of sight.

When he was out of sight and hearing range, Alfred said, "So that backfired spectacularly."

"You realize that it was all your fault."

"Hey! I was trying to protect my baby brother's virtue. I was being heroic." He scrunched up his nose. "Also, I'm not the one who destroyed an entire glass display because I was being a perve."

"I was trying to do something nice. I was trying to encourage Arthur to admit his attraction." Francis huffed, elegantly crossing his arms. "And he was the one who destroyed it."

"Hah, yeah, with _your _head."

"I will drown you in the canal myself."

"I'd be more afraid of that threat if you hadn't fell in, like, six weeks."

* * *

Arthur followed Matthew to Parliament Hill, pausing only to marvel at statues decorating the area behind the buildings.

Passing a statute of Queen Victoria, he bowed deeply to his dearly departed monarch with a bittersweet smile.

Eventually he found the Canadian standing in front of a statue of Sir John A. Macdonald.

"—and then he got pushed him into a revolving postcard stand." Matthew added, tone indignant and petulant. "I was kicked out of my own museum! And, to top it off, sir, I'm in love with the infuriating, oblivious bastard." He sighed sadly.

Today was supposed to be a fun outing, a chance for Matthew to show off a little and get closer to Arthur. It was going to be a date, a casual attempt at wooing.

Instead it had gotten off to a horribly rocky start and the blond couldn't help but feel he should've expected it.

"And things had been going so well too." He whispered, staring up at his former Boss.

Arthur, hiding behind another statue, felt his heart squeeze at the way the blond's shoulders slumped even as the boy reached out to trace the monument with reverent fingers.

So he was right…

Suddenly, the curve of Matthew's back stiffened and he glanced cautiously over his shoulder. And Arthur decided, at that moment, to let his presence be known.

"Matthew." He stepped out and walked towards the blond cautiously.

Matthew merely regarded him with icy eyes and turned back to the statue of his first prime minister.

"How much did you hear?" He queried, the barest tremble dragging his words down.

"Not much." Arthur replied, ignoring the heavy feeling in his chest. He came to a stop next to his former charge, eyeing the downcast gaze of the other. "I…I…our behavior was inexcusable, lad. And…"

Matthew glanced at him, violet eyes bright behind his glasses and stayed silent.

"Please forgive us…me."

The other's lips twisted into a frown for a moment, his forehead furrowing. "I always do." He pointed out, in a quiet moment of assertiveness.

"I'll pay for the damages."

"I've already called my Boss to send your Boss the bill."

"Uh, good." Arthur winced, already thinking of the verbal lashing he would receive.

The two stood in silence with Matthew looking up at the statue and Arthur looking at Matthew. A few visitors walked past them, taking pictures of the statues and chatting quietly.

"Sometimes I really miss them." Matthew admitted haltingly, crossing his arms protectively. "One day they're patting me on the head and telling me not to punch Alfred in the face and the next I'm watching their funeral procession."

The expression, for the briefest moment, turned disconsolate and Arthur wanted to reach out and comfort him.

"I like to come here and visit. Its easier than…than going to their graves." The Canadian whispered, indigo eyes damp. "I pretend they can hear me." His voice hushed, a shy edge to his words. "That's really weird, I guess."

Matthew, after running on fanciful adrenaline ever since his more-than feelings for Arthur had sprouted, was feeling exhausted. He felt that he was getting closer and closer but not quite there and, to be honest, he just wanted an answer. It was nice, Arthur paying attention to him without prompting. His heart had fluttered when he realized the older nation had followed him. He felt exposed after that romp through the art gallery and frustrated that it had ended on such a sour note. Now, feeling a little vulnerable, he had just shared something personal and private with the man who kept even his personal feelings private from his self.

"You probably think it's childish."

"Its not." Arthur replied without hesitance. He looked up at the man he had trusted with his northern colony, the one he had hoped would give Matthew the foundation and confidence to last him to the presence, and the one he had hoped would nurture the other and make him stand on his own. He smiled, with a bit of a conspiratorial laugh, added, "I visit Westminster almost every month. I spend hours there, just remembering."

Matthew looked at his former guardian, face as trusting as it had always been.

"Does it ever get easier?"

"Never."

They stood in silence for a few more moments, the quiet pressing down on them at the memory of days gone.

And Arthur knew he could say many things right now. He always did have a way with words but couldn't truly express himself, especially on the subject of feeling. Give him a pen and paper and he'd write you a ballad in a snap. But put him face to face with the object of his affection and he'd probably choke on his tongue.

He was awkward like that, you see.

So, instead of telling Matthew that his leaders loved him and he was oh so very proud and how much he loved the Canadian, all he could utter was, "Chin up, love."

And then he patted Matthew on the shoulder.

Distantly, he could hear a voice that sounded suspiciously like a certain obnoxious American's saying, "This is why you can't get laid."

* * *

"This is why he can't get laid!" Alfred shook his head in disgust, peering behind the statue. "He's so fucking _British._"

"If I didn't believe so strongly in them confessing to each other, I would prepare _Mathieu_ myself and stick Arthur in." Francis hissed, azure eyes narrowed as his fingers pressed into the base of the statue. "He's like a virgin all over again."

"…You're not joking, are you?"

"_Pas du tout._" Was the sharp response.

* * *

But Matthew burst into laughter, arms wrapped around his stomach as he curved down, peals of giggles tumbling from his pink lips.

Arthur just stared at the boy.

"Oh Arthur…" the blond laughed softly, chuckles slowing as he stood back up. Once the last of the giggles tumbled out, he pressed forward and pulled the bemused Englishman into a hug. "I love you. Don't ever change." He murmured, lips brushing against the other's cheek before he pulled away.

Arthur, blushing and pleased that he hadn't shot himself in the foot with the seemingly dismissive comment, managed to snag Matthew's hand before the blond pulled away completely. When curious blue-purple eyes glanced at him, he stammered. "I'm feeling rather peckish…perhaps we can get something to eat?"

Matthew, unconsciously entwining his fingers with Arthur, grinned. "Have you ever had beavertail?"

A look of horror flashed across the Brit's face. "Good heavens, boy. Was my cooking so bad you resorted to eating those rodents?"

Now it was Matthew's turn to give the other a blank look. "…It's a pastry."

"They're awesome!" Alfred shouted, blond head popping out from behind a statue base followed by Francis's. "I am so up for beavertail!"

"Only if you promise not to…be you."

"Scout's honor!" the superpower grinned, holding up three fingers, thumb touching his pinky.

"You were never really a boy scout…"

When Matthew didn't immediately pull away and, instead, tightened his grip, Arthur couldn't help but stare in surprise. After Matthew turned around (most likely to lead them towards these mysterious pastries—these beavertails), Arthur saw Alfred give him two thumbs up and nod at their linked hands.

Hmm…curiouser and curiouser.

* * *

"Oh, so good." Alfred mumbled around a large bite of his banana and chocolate covered pastry. Smears of chocolate were on his cheeks as he devoured the treat.

Francis just watched him in horror, not yet having taken a bite out of his beavertail.

"_Mon Dieu._" He murmured. "You couldn't put him in even one etiquette lesson?"

"I did." Arthur glowered, pinching the bridge of his nose as Alfred munched loudly in the background ("Om nom nom..." The superpower was repeating in between bites).

Matthew sighed, pushing a handful of napkins towards his brother as he reached the outdoor table. He could tell Arthur that Alfred had perfect table manners and that the only reason he didn't use them was because his atrocious table conduct was just another chance at rebellion and pissing off Arthur.

Alfred was such an asshole.

But we digress.

"Here, try some." Matthew sat next to Arthur. "Its just fried dough with cinnamon and sugar. And it only looks like a beavertail."

"…Now imagine if he took completely after you." Francis pointed out casually,

"You haven't even tried it yet." Matthew pouted, turning the full force of his frown towards the Frenchman.

"I'll eat his if he doesn't want it."

"Go wash your face, brother."

After Francis took a bite and grudgingly admitted that, yes, it was good, Matthew turned back to Arthur and, with a mischievous grin, tore off a piece and said, "Say 'ah'!"

'I am so proud.' Were the exact same thoughts that flew through Alfred and Francis's heads.

With a good-natured eye roll, Arthur obediently opened his mouth and let Matthew pop in the bit of pastry.

_Victoria, by the grace of God._

He slowly chewed the bit of dessert, emerald eyes widening. Then, swallowing, he spoke, in a clear voice. "I have eaten many things, Matthew. I have dined with kings and queens and eaten the finest sweets made by the hands of men but never have I tasted such…such…heaven."

"…So you liked it." Matthew said unnecessarily. "I'm glad." He smiled, absently licking the sugar from his fingers out of habit.

Arthur, zeroing in on the action, blanched when he realized he wanted to lick sugar off those fingers too…and off Matthew's lips…and off his stomach…and, well, many other X-rated things he had been trying to block from his mind.

"You're drooling, _lapin._" Francis said with a smirk.

* * *

"This is so quaint, _Mathieu._" The Frenchman cooed, eyes flickering over the displays of produce with a well-trained eye.

"Hey, hey, Mattie." Alfred whispered loudly, managing to sneakily detach his brother from Arthur (who had been sufficiently distracted by a tea shop). "You're doing so awesome, bro." He smiled, wrapping an arm around the Canadian's shoulder.

"Thanks. And I'm still telling your Boss."

"Hahaha, we'll just see about that." Then, with a calculating glint in his eyes, the superpower added, "I think we should 'split up'. You and Artie go off and have a magical day together and Frenchie and I will tail you."

"You sure?" Matthew asked, warily looking around at the bustle of people lest Arthur burst out from the crowd and catching him and Alfred in such a close position.

"Abso-fucking-lutely."

"But what if it doesn't work?"

Suddenly a mysterious grin overtook Alfred's face. Now, Matthew didn't know what Alfred and Francis knew and, if Alfred wanted, he could enlighten the other.

But, Alfred wanted Matthew and Arthur to come together organically.

Or as organically as possible.

To admit it would require coming to terms with it. It would require Matthew gathering the courage to confess and Arthur finding it in himself to take a chance.

Alfred and Francis could lead those two to bed, but there'd be no guarantee of the two fucking.

"It'll work bro. Just believe. Don't stop—"

"Please don't."

"_Believin'~ Hold on to that feeeeeeeling~"_

"I'm leaving now."

* * *

"Alfred dragged Francis over a bakery and I'd rather not sit and listen to Francis criticize my attempt at his pastries." Matthew said quietly, popping up next to Arthur and sighing when the older nation seized up in shock.

When the Brit realized who it was, he calmed down. "Terribly sorry, lad."

"…You can make it up to me by coming ice skating." Matthew suggested, indigo eyes excited.

What was a date without ice skating?

"Lad, you know I'm shite at—"

"Then I'll show you a pirate ship."

"Well, then, I suppose I _could_."

* * *

"Why I let you talk me into this, I'll never know." Arthur swore quietly, mindful of the laughing children tumbling about the indoor ice rink. The Englishman, red-nosed and scowling, was clinging to the wall of the rink, feet slipping uselessly against the ice.

"Don't be like that, Arthur." Matthew cajoled, looking far too comfortable in the chill of the ice rink as he lazily skated around the frustrated former empire. "You've done this before."

"Yes, I've done a lot of things before but that doesn't mean I'm—"

Matthew's face fell and Arthur felt the rest of his anger cool. He sighed, shifting and thinking.

As for our dear Canadian, well, he was wondering if maybe he could've thought out this plan better.

Ideally, he thought he could hold hands with Arthur as they skated (because he knew full well how much Arthur sucked at it) without the Englishman thinking he was being clingy. And, he thought it'd be a nice opportunity to be in extra close proximity to the other man.

"Here, come…come here." Arthur grumbled, reaching out with one hand and grabbing the front of Matthew's black polo.

(Distantly realizing just how nice the boy looked when he showed some skin.)

(Then he mentally face-palmed because he realized just how dodgy he sounded.)

With a bright smile, Matthew pulled Arthur towards him and simultaneously skating backwards. Swearing profusely, the English nation scrambled for purchase and managed to hold Matthew flush against him in a vice-like grip.

Both men were blushing, slowly sliding across the ice—Arthur, with a face full of Matthew's silky blond hair, and Matthew, desperately trying to keep them both from falling onto the ice from his awkward position.

* * *

"Sneak in a quick grope, damn it." Alfred urged from up in the stands where he was watching (creeping) on the pair down below.

"Where, pray tell, did you get those binoculars?"

"Ask me stupid questions later, Francis. Can't you see I'm busy?"

"Ah, yes. How inconsiderate of me." Francis responded sarcastically. He turned his attention back to the still clinging pair on the ice (because Arthur was sure as hell not planning on letting go anytime soon) and chuckled richly. "I believe Arthur has just claimed a vital region."

Alfred, who had been distracted by Canada's flag (oh right, so that's what it looks like, the American had thought), whipped his gaze back to the pair. "Not in front of the children!" He shrieked. Then he paused and whistled lowly. "Oh never mind, he's just grabbing Matt's ass." Adding, "I think that was on purpose."

* * *

It wasn't on purpose. But Arthur wasn't complaining because the moment his hand slipped, a fetching pink blush crept across Matthew's face and he squeaked, ducking his head.

Though, that might have been more because the Englishman had reflexively squeezed the boy's rump.

…Yes…reflexively. Seriously.

* * *

Haha, so if all goes well, this story could be over soon. Unless something goes horribly wrong.

Give me a reason to update. BWAHAHAHA-SHOT-


	13. Chapter 13

Well, everyone. I'm feeling a bit better so I decided that a more cheerful update was in order. Also, the reviews and support for this story are absolutely touching. You guys rock. Just one more chapter to go. Lets finish this out, yo.

Note: Remember, I am not from Ottawa nor am I Canadian. Please forgive any and all mistakes regarding timing and location and detail. I'm working off suggestions, wikipedia, and websites. This fic takes place in spring. But, go ahead and point out any glaring errors.

Warning: return of smutty daydreams, language, OOC-ness, stupidity, shenanigans, slash, previous warnings

Pairing: UK/Can (you can almost taste the maple tea XD)

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.

_

* * *

Matthew gasped, his front slamming against the cold, unforgiving metal of the locker with an echoing clang. His overheated cheeks stuck to the smooth metal while his fingers clawed against the surface, even as the metal lock pressed into his stomach. _

_His hockey helmet clattered to the ground, forgotten, followed by his gloves._

"_Cor blimey, love. Do even know what you do to me?" a voice purred into his ear, velvety and dark. "The way you went after that wanker, tearing off your gloves and helmet, snarling and hissing." Warm hands tugged his jersey upwards, fingers skirting around the edge of his hockey pants. Blunt nails scraped across his belly, idly dancing down the faint trail of blond curls that disappeared into his black pants. _

_Matthew groaned, moving his head so his forehead was resting against the locker. "He cross-checked me." He defended, reaching down and moving the teasing hand lower so it was pressed against his pelvis._

"_You slammed your fist into his nose." Arthur murmured, lips brushing against the shell of Matthew's ear, followed by a quick swipe of his tongue. "You grabbed the front of his jersey and kept punching and punching." With each word, the Englishman ground his erection into the other man's rear. "You're vicious, pet."_

_The blond mewled, rutting against the hand that was kneading the front of his pants, trying to get more despite the thick material pressing against his hard-on. Taking pity on the whining blond, Arthur slid his hand into the other's pants and boxers, taking the weeping member in hand, much to Matthew's pleasure._

_With a wicked grin, the sandy-haired man nudged the man's legs further apart with his knee, pressing the player harder into the locker. "What do you want, pet?"_

"_O-oh god, Arthur, please!"_

"_Didn't quite catch that, mate." Arthur chuckled, biting gently at Matthew's nape, his nose brushing against sweaty, curling strands of hair. "Tell us what you want. Beg us for it."_

"_P-please…just something…anything!"_

"_Not specific enough pet."_

"_J-just fuck me, you hoser!" Matthew snarled, bucking back against the man, face scarlet._

"_You sure, lovey?" Arthur asked, voice teasing cautious. "What if one of your teammates were to double-back and walk in on me buggering their centre? What would they think?" He leaned closer, voice husky as he continued. "Their quiet little playmaker, shoved up against the locker, pants around his ankles and jersey still on, moaning all wanton-like, like a slag…a cheap whore." He grunted, rutting faster against Matthew, driven by the smoky fantasy he was weaving as well as the alluring little pants from his partner. "Screaming 'harder, harder' and begging so prettily…" _

* * *

"Why are they just standing there, staring at the locker rooms?" Alfred asked, peering around the corner to spy on the blushing pair. "They look so sketch."

* * *

"That's the pirate ship?" Arthur asked, raising a thick eyebrow as he scrutinized the schooner that was bobbing gently in the water.

Screaming children, dressed in varying degrees of pirate, were running up the dock to get on, followed by vaguely disgruntled parents and the poor teenager who was in charge of getting tickets.

"Its mostly for kids." Matthew explained awkwardly, toeing the ground and feeling rather embarrassed.

He thought it was pretty cool.

* * *

"That is so cool." Alfred gushed, pushing up the pair of cheap lime green sunglasses he had purchased at a tiny gift shop for the hell of it. "I wanna go."

"I believe we are to stay out of sight." Francis said calmly, slowly directing the superpower away from the attraction. When Alfred turned a pleading pout into his direction, the Frenchman's face hardened. "_Non."_

* * *

Matthew smiled, his wavy blond hair held back in a bandana save for that single errant curl which bobbed freely, watching as Arthur, who had rather grudgingly boarded the ship, cackled manically, chasing after the giggling children while wearing an eye patch and waving a foam cutlass. The parents and actual workers looked on amused, as the Englishman kept the little ones busy and happy.

His smile turned nostalgic as he remembered the times Arthur put aside his duties as an Empire to play with his colonies. When Alfred and Matthew were mere toddlers, he would play hide and seek with them—even convincing Matthew who was still wary of the dour nation. After Alfred gained independence and Arthur started to stay in Europe longer, Matthew grew up. But, sometimes, when he visited England during holidays, he'd watch as Arthur put aside his Empire mantle and his imperial attitudes to play with his colonies—regardless of color. He'd wrestle with Australia and New Zealand. He'd give Hong Kong, Seychelles, and Dominica piggyback rides. He'd play cricket with all the children, taking his time and being unusually patient.

By then Matthew would be too old and more interested in discussing his affairs with the older nations to take part, but he'd watch as his guardian tried to endear himself to the young colonies.

It didn't stop their eventual independences, but it made their situations more bearable.

Arthur, for all his faults and shortcomings as a guardian, was good with children when he wanted to be.

Suddenly, Matthew became aware that he was being watching. Turning his head slightly, he jumped away from the vessel wall and smiled nervously at the pair of middle-aged women smiling at him, knowingly.

"Can I help you ladies?" He asked, violet eyes kind when faced with his own citizens.

"Its just so very sweet." The more rotund woman commented.

"Oh, yes, very." Her companion agreed, her graying hair pulled back in a bun. "How long have you been together?"

Matthew stared at them, confusion etched on his face. "I'm sorry…?"

"You and that strapping young man over there." The woman explained, nodding towards Arthur who was leading the children in a sing-a-long now.

"Oh!" Matthew blushed. "We…we're not together." He admitted.

The woman looked at him, glanced back at Arthur and turned back on him.

The larger woman snorted. "Honestly, dear boy, we're not blind. The way you look at him, the way he looks at you…its love, no doubt."

The nation of Canada made an odd choking noise that went unnoticed by the ladies. "You're both mistaken." He said weakly.

Both women's expressions darkened. "Well, what the bloody hell is taking so long?"

The thinner one added. "A good Canadian boy like you is more than worthy of…what is he, exactly?"

"British, but—"

"Oh, Maude, he's British!" The plump one cooed. "How lovely. British boys are so polite and they'll marry you."

"Oh yes!" Her friend nodded. "It took him a few years, but Prince William finally proposed to that pretty lass. What was her name, Mable? Kara…. Katie…Ah, yes, her name is Kate. Good lads. Not at all like the _French._"

"Look at him! He's good with children and he's British." Mable said, completely matter-of-fact. "And he's got strong shoulders and wears a belt. He is a catch, dear boy."

"But…" Matthew interjected weakly, his blush now crimson. "He helped raise me…It wouldn't be proper."

"Poppycock." Maude waved her hand dismissively. "If its love, its love."

Blushing terribly now, Matthew glanced over at Arthur who was now trying to hold his own against a mutiny from the crowd of children. With a gasped "Arrr!", the former pirate fell to the ground, three children clinging to his legs.

The corner of the blond's lips quirked upwards as he watched the sandy-haired man play dead as the children clambered around him.

Green eyes shooting open suddenly, Arthur began to mock struggle, shouting, "It'll take more than a few landlubbers to take down the dread Captain Kirkland!"

Matthew laughed, drawing Arthur's attention in his direction, over the head of children who had ran off in surprise. As he stood up, the Brit's rakish grin morphed into something softer as he watched Matthew. The blond waved lightly, a small grin on his face.

"Good heavens, my boy. Anyone who can make you smile like that deserves a chance." Maude said kindly, Mable nodding in agreement.

* * *

When the ship pulled back to dock, Matthew, still in shock over the lecture those two women dealt, made his way down the gangplank.

Was it so obvious he was making doe eyes at Arthur? Oh maple, what if everyone knew and Arthur knew and if Arthur knew, then was he just humoring Matthew so as to not hurt his feelings?

The Canadian frowned, heart suddenly feeling rather heavy. Suddenly, Arthur came up next to him, sandy hair ruffled in every direction, while straightening his sweater vest. With a satisfied smile, he pulled off his black pirate hat and looked over at Matthew.

"I rather enjoyed that." He glanced back longingly at the ship. "Reckon I could've commandeered her?" the former buccaneer added, his accent a twist West Country rather than the upper class dialect he favored these days.

When Matthew didn't respond, Arthur frowned and suddenly felt like a right bastard.

"You…did enjoy yourself, didn't you, love?" He asked, coming to a stop on the pier. "Matthew?"

But Matthew continued to walk forward, a slightly vacant shade to his violet eyes and lower lip bitten in thought. With a roll of his eyes, Arthur grabbed the blond by the crook of his elbow.

"It is rude to not reply when spoken to, Matthew." Arthur lectured disapprovingly (and rather haughtily, lets be honest).

"Huh?" Matthew finally responded, after Arthur reached up and tugged his earlobe. With a curious look, the blond absently touched his earlobe.

"It worked when you were asleep." The Brit explained defensively.

A tiny smile worked its way onto Matthew's face.

Arthur remembered.

Looking past the increasingly irate man's shoulder, Matthew spied Mable and Maude (really nice ladies once they stopped nagging him about his lack of a love life with Arthur and started bashing the Leafs) giving him encouraging looks (even as they attempted to wrangle their shared brood of children).

Maude gave him two thumbs up. Mable mouthed 'go for it'.

Matthew blushed.

They said Arthur looked at him the same way.

"—and I bet you wouldn't even notice if I started tap-dancing, right here, wearing only a tea cozy. Honestly, you and Alfred always have your head in the clouds. It's clearly the French part of you. Francis is such a flighty twit. Granted, your French part is a part of you so maybe its not so bad and at least you didn't inherit his whorishness and thank Victoria that you never had syphilis and—"

"Arthur, what are you talking about?" Matthew finally interrupted, trying very hard not to laugh at the indignant look that crossed his former guardian's face. He failed and began to snicker.

"Cheeky little bastard." Arthur muttered finally, bring his pirate hat roughly down onto Matthew's head before turning on his heel. "Last time I ever worry…twit would probably lose his head if not for me...thank heaven for my good influence."

Matthew rolled his eyes and adjusted the hat, looking back at the ship.

_He moaned, nails digging grooves into the starboard wall, golden hair tossed back as he rested his head against the curve of the other man's shoulder._

_White gloved hands, one on his hip and the other smoothing down the column of his neck and down his chest, were rough against his skin as their owner continued his relentless thrusting._

_He gasped, jerking forward, resting his forearms on the top of the wall, his head falling between them so he could look down into the blue water. One hand, resting in the middle of his back, now, pushed him down further and changed the angle of entry._

"_Scream for us, pet." The Englishman commanded._

With a vivid flush, Matthew hurried to back to dry land and ignored his assessment that, yes, he had a pirate kink.

Thank goodness he was trying to win over a (former) pirate.

* * *

"About damn time." Alfred grumbled, polishing off his fourth ice cream cone. His absent-minded wiped his hands on his brand-new "I Love Ottawa" t-shirt. "I was starting to think Artie commandeered the ship and set sail for Tortuga."

"I am surprised he did not." Francis noted. "We should probably get out of sight." He threw the superpower a sidelong glance. "Unless you would like to purchase a few more souvenirs."

"Nah, I'm good." Alfred shrugged, lifting up his shirt to make sure all ten of his brand new key chains were hanging from his belt loop. Then he grabbed the plastic bag that had a few snow globes and magnets and a few bottles of maple syrup and a maple leaf paperweight and stood up. "I really shouldn't. But I thought I should give Mattie's economy a hand—'cause I'm a hero, ya know?"

"I think you should be less worried about his economy and more about yours." The older nation stated flatly.

* * *

"I'm pretty sure I could get us a pair of tickets to see the Senators, if you're interested." Matthew said off-handedly before spearing a bit of chicken and eating it.

Arthur paused in cutting his steak, suddenly feeling very put on the spot. While, on one hand, he wanted to spend time with Matthew and do things the boy liked, he also had no desire to have his darling former colony turn into a berserker and end up in jail after sending three men to the emergency room following an audience scuffle during a hockey match.

Again.

But Matthew was looking at him with expectant violet eyes, lips twitching into a shy smile and Arthur couldn't find it in him to say no.

"Why not."

Earning a pleased grin in response, Arthur went back to his meal, letting Matthew continue his explanation of the other things they could do in Ottawa for the rest of his and Francis's stay.

"I'd like to do you" was, unfortunately, the incredibly mature thought that dashed across his brain before Arthur could firmly catch it and jar it and place it on a high shelf to gather dust forever.

"We can go back to By town Market—we've only seen a bit of it after all. And Commissioner's Park and I know you've seen Parliament Hill but that was only during meetings. Oh! And there's so many museums that you've never had the chance to visit."

And Matthew was fairly talkative once prompted and Arthur really could sit there for hours and listen to the boy's soft tone because it was soothing and once upon a time when they were stuck in the trenches, artillery falling like rain and the distant shiver of gas at their necks, mud everywhere, he could very clearly remember Matthew's gentle voice reciting bits of poetry at his ear and the press of his gun at his ribs and the brush of flaxen hair against his cheek right before the younger nation would swear at a particularly close explosion and glare up at the dark sky with bitter violet eyes.

But, thankfully now, those violet eyes were bright and swirling and Arthur could see the awe-inspiring aurora borealis in Matthew's eyes and the Englishman thought that, sometime, he'd the Canadian as much.

* * *

"I wish one of them would just make a move." Alfred yawned, playing with his fork, in the little dark corner he and Francis had gotten thankfully. "Seriously, we pushed them together, gave Matthew pointers, and pretty much pointed Arthur at him. Solid foundation. They're practically eye fucking. Something has to give."

"Give them time, _mon ami._" Francis chided, swirling his wine glass. "Love must be nurtured."

He had ordered wine before his meal. He needed it. He deserved it.

"Weren't you the one ready to stick Arthur in Matthew?"

Francis downed his wine with less grace than usual. "I believe before that statement, I maintained my support of their eventual confession." He winked at a pretty girl across the uniform, smirking lewdly when she winked back and stood up, abandoning her group of friends. "_Excuse-moi_, _cher._ I believe I have just been issued an invitation."

And with that, he left. Alfred watched him go before he glanced back at Arthur and Matthew.

He sighed, demeanor drooping slightly before he mustered up some excitement and in a peppy voice said to his self, "Lone wolf. Majestic eagle." He grinned, sitting back and folding his arms behind his head. "Bachelorhood."

Then the server came by with his pizza and beer and since Francis wasn't there, there was just more for him.

"Fuck yeah." Alfred smirked, rubbing his hands together.

* * *

"It occurs to me, lad. We left those two gits alone for the entire day." Arthur said suddenly.

Matthew paused, his movements stilling. "Alfred went souvenir shopping and Francis is no longer allowed to cross the Quebec border." He explained quickly. It wasn't a total lie. Alfred liked to go souvenir shopping and Matthew had made passive-aggressive comments to his prime ministers until they agreed that Francis needed prior clearance (from Matthew) to cross into Quebec.

Arthur gave him a doubtful look so Matthew clarified. "Alfred wants new additions to his snow globe collection. And in Quebec, they have orders to shoot on site."

"Isn't that a bit…ah…extreme, poppet?"

An uncharacteristically nasty smirk seemed to flutter across Matthew' face and Arthur wasn't even sure if it was ever there at all.

* * *

"You ate it all?" Francis pouted, adjusting his collar and hiding the damning lipstick stains on his neck.

"You snooze, you lose, Frenchie." Alfred said carelessly, finishing off the rest of his beer. "And I'm telling Mattie you banged one of his citizens."

"She wasn't Canadian." Francis corrected, deciding not to tell the superpower that the woman was actually visiting from New York City. "And I'm not splitting the bill."

"Aw, c'mon man! I'm in a recession." The other blond pouted.

"Now you remember."

* * *

When the waiter brought the bill, Arthur quickly snatched it the nanosecond it left his hand and held it away from Matthew.

"Arthur." Matthew sighed, reaching for the bill. "You're the guest."

"Pish-posh my boy. You've been such a gracious host, quartering those twats and me. Its only fair."

"Its no bother really. Please don't be like this."

"Don't argue with me, Matthew."

"I'm sorry." Matthew said automatically, before adding. "But please give me the check."

But Arthur was already handing the bill back to the waiter along with his credit card. "Already done, poppet." He gave the other a fond smile. "Its not every day I can do something nice for you after all."

So Matthew sat back, grudgingly. "Thank you." He said softly. "And you've already spent the entire day with me, you know." The Canadian pointed out. "That was nice."

Arthur's grin widened. "My dear boy, that was something nice for me."

When the blond's eyes widened in surprise, Arthur mentally crowed, "Bloody hell, we've still got it, old chap."

When Matthew's face lit up in pleasure, Arthur wanted to do so much more to keep that face alight.

* * *

"Aren't you in a recession?" Arthur asked, disdainfully taking in Alfred's souvenirs and new t-shirt.

Next to him on the chesterfield, Matthew twisted back to smirk at Alfred.

"This is why I didn't get you a key chain." Alfred scowled, crossing his arms. "You're a jerk. Did your mother ever tell you 'if you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all'?"

"My mother was murdered before I could even walk." The Brit said dryly before turning back to the television were an old hockey game was playing. "Now tell me, pet, why are they fighting now?"

"It was a dirty hit." Matthew supplied, having changed into pajamas already. "Why are you two back so late?" He asked casually, thinking Alfred should've come in at least twenty minutes after them not two hours later.

However, he was staring specifically at Alfred, one golden brow raised, and his expression clearly said "Not even God can save you if you caused an incident on my land" and "I will tear off your balls—peace-keeping be damned—and slather you in vodka and leave you on Russia's doorstep".

Alfred laughed awkwardly and Francis sighed.

"We lost our way." The Frenchman stated, very reluctantly.

"That's awful." Matthew said, very sympathetically.

"Pillocks." Arthur snorted, entirely unsympathetic. His green eyes were focused on the match.

Matthew rolled his eyes. "I'll give you both a map tomorrow." He promised, then noting the growing horror on Alfred's face, he asked, "What's wrong Al?"

"Do not want!" He wailed, covering his eyes and dashing down to the basement. Random cries about "delicate sensibilities" and "we're brothers" and "my eyes" and "porn porn _everywhere_" trailed out from the slammed door.

The three nations just stared in silence in the direction Alfred had run off.

Finally, Francis said, to Arthur, "You raised him."

* * *

"Al?" Matthew asked softly, tiptoeing down the steps to the basement. "Do you need a hug?" He called out kindly.

"Yes." Was the pitiful response.

With an affectionate sigh, Matthew descended the rest of the stairs and, navigating around pizza boxes and other garbage, made his way to the old sofa. Finding his brother, he nudged the superpower until there was enough space for Matthew to curl up on the couch with his brother. Cuddling up next to the somewhat petrified nation, he began to speak. "You know I wouldn't give you a physical or topographic map, Al. Just a simple map of Ottawa's roads."

Alfred nodded, Nantucket brushing against Matthew's nose. "Did you have a good day, bro?" He asked, raising his arm so Matthew could have some more room.

"The best." Matthew smiled and began to relate the day's happenings (including the discussion with the Maude and Mable).

"I'm happy for you Mattie." Alfred said once his brother was done.

"I think I should confess." Matthew said immediately, nervously licking his lips and building up his courage. "Tomorrow."

His brother was silent, so the Canadian kicked him lightly.

"Go for it dude. But you should do it in a totally kickass way." Alfred mused, not noticing the kick. "Like with fireworks and stuff."

"No."

"But—"

"No."

"It'd be—"

"_No._"

"Fine." Alfred huffed. Then, sobering, he continued, "I think tomorrow will be a good day, Mattie."

"I hope so." Matthew murmured, doubts already nipping at him. "But what if—"

Alfred, sensing some waffling on the northern nation's part, pulled his brother into a hug before he could pysch himself out and, kindly, said, "Shut up Matt."

* * *

Maude and Mable are based on two lovely elderly women I met the other day. They complimented my boots and then went on to chatter about cake recipes. I wish you guys could hear how they sounded. Their voices were a cross between Jon Stewart's impression of the Queen of England and Robin Williams as Mrs. Doubtfire. It was glorious.

So one more chapter, eh? Bwahaha~ Persuade me not to forget this story for the next few months. Convince me to update soon. -SHOT-


	14. Chapter 14

Well, well, aren't you all lucky? An extra long chapter just for you~ Also, once again, a big thank you to everyone who made suggestions for Ottawa attractions. Don't feel bad if I didn't use yours, please, because I didn't want this to become a travel log even though there were so many good ideas to choose from. Also, remember, I'm not from Ottawa, so please forgive any and all mistakes regarding that.

So...here we are? -sniffles- I just want to say that you guys have been amazing. I'm touched and flattered by all the support and, frankly, I did not envision 14 chapters and this awesome of a response. All the favs, alerts, and reviews have been wonderful and I truly think I have some of the best readers everywhere. Thank you all.

Warnings: language, slash, OOCness, potential fail, Canadian history fail, previous warnings apply

Pairing: UK/Canada (ABOUT DAMN TIME, EH? -SHOT-)

Disclaimer: Thank goodness I don't own Hetalia. You'd have to read my nonsense all the time.

_

* * *

Matthew stood there, his back to Arthur, clad in a somber black suit. It was too big on his lithe frame, ill fitting across his shoulders and worn at the elbows. The only thing that saved the boy from looking like a waif was the expensive cut of the suit, the careful make of the jacket and the critical way wayward threads were dealt with before the fabric gave way. His blond hair was loose, shaggy and barely dusting his neck._

_A field of poppies stretched out in front of him, endless and bright, waving innocuously in the faint breeze. Violet eyes, a little too damp and bright to be ignored, barely flickered in his direction as he stepped up, placing a warm hand on the boy's bony shoulder._

_Matthew flinched, his eyes fluttering shut, golden lashes trembling against his cheeks._

_There is a fine, thin scar across one of his eyes and the old mossy stains of a bruise high on his cheek. Arthur knows full well that Matthew's ribs are still tender and that the boy hasn't slept properly in years and has scars that Arthur can't wash, stitch up, bandage and kiss better. _

"_Matthew…" He began, pausing when the other shook his head, eyes still shut._

"_What…could you possibly need to say now, Arthur?" Matthew asked, his voice too soft and too hoarse. It's a whisper in the wind and Arthur can only think of his charge coughing up blood and lung and smiling as though it's nothing. "Save your words." There's a fine tremor of anger in the normally complacent lad's voice and Arthur, empire he is, is silent. "I don't want to hear them anymore. They're just words."_

_Its sunny and birds are chirping and the war is over and somewhere, in the distance, Arthur can hear Alfred laughing but all that matters is that Matthew is looking at him like Arthur is the one who pushed and pushed and broke Matthew and left him broken and bloody and dead. As though Arthur didn't put his boy back together again, picking up the pieces and working his magic because he wants Matthew whole and alive and breathing so he can feel the other's pulse under his fingertips. _

Arthur awakes with a jolt, feeling unbearably cold. Wisps of the memory—of Matthew walking away from him, of the way his mouth open and shut uselessly trying to muster up the words to make him stay—skirted at the edge of his vision and the Englishman brought his hand up to his face, the heel of his palm pressing between his eyes.

There's so much he wants to say to his former charge, so much he should've said long ago. He can't quite get rid of the past. But, there's always the future and, fortunately, now he has another chance.

"Don't let this slip past, old chap." The sandy-haired nation murmurs.

He thinks of Matthew laughing, wrapping his arms around his neck and managing to say "I love you" and a feeling of warmth sparks underneath his skin.

Arthur quite likes the feeling.

Lets be honest, he likes Matthew. Quite a bit in fact.

* * *

"You're up rather early." Arthur said in surprise as he entered the kitchen, intending on having a nice cuppa in the morning before everyone woke up.

Matthew looked up at him from where he was kneeling down, scratching Kumajirou's ears. The polar bear ignored them both, and was more interested in tearing apart the salmon Matthew had placed in a red plastic bowl in front of him. The Canadian stood up and Arthur noticed that the blond was wearing jogging shorts and a faded Senators t-shirt.

Seeing the question in Arthur's face, Matthew smiled sheepishly, "I'm going on a jog." He explained. Then, face flashing wicked. "Want to come along, Arthur?" Matthew asked sweetly.

Arthur gawked at the blond before stammering, "W-well, I…"

* * *

"Isn't this nice?" Matthew asked, more cheerful than anyone had the right to be in the wee hours of the morning doing exercise.

"Quite." Arthur said in a clipped tone, bundled up in sweat pants and faded University of Toronto hooded sweatshirt with the hood up. He exhaled deeply, concentrating on keeping up with his former charge who seemed unaffected by the chill in the air as he happily jogged in a faded Senators t-shirt a pair of red running shorts that seemed to gravitate further up his pale, muscled thighs (that had only a sparse sprinkling of golden hair) with each step. The Englishman stared unabashedly at the way Matthew's white shirt clung to his stomach and shoulders and he purposely slowed and jogged a bit behind the younger nation just so he could watch the way the other's rear—

"Fu—" He wheezed as the front of his trainers caught on a crack in the sidewalk and the Brit crashed to the ground, knees slamming against the concrete painfully. A mangled stream of English curses tumbled out even as his cheeks heated up in embarrassment.

"Oh maple!" He heard Matthew gasp, followed by the screech of his sneakers as the Canadian jogged back to him. "Are you ok—wait, no, that's a stupid thing to ask. Of course you're not okay!"

Arthur, already kicking himself for not paying attention (though, could you really blame him when he had such a delectable, dear to his heart, jogging companion?), chanced a look up and caught sight of the other's concerned expression.

Blond eyebrows knitted together and eyes filled with worry and mouth twisted with concern even as the Canadian babbled on. "Are you bleeding? Can you feel your legs? Should I carry you back? Should I call an ambulance? How many fingers am I holding up?" Matthew asked fretfully, grabbing Arthur's shoulder with one hand and waving three fingers in front of his face.

The English nation felt his annoyance from earlier and the embarrassment from his fall melt away as Matthew took his hands in his and dusted away the gravel and dirt that was staining his palms, checking for cuts. Spindly fingers, slightly clammy palms, held his hands, turning them over and examining them. Matthew's hands didn't even have a paper cut and they were far softer, rounder than his own, scarred hands. Heart pounding, Arthur lifted one hand and pressed a finger against Matthew's lips and silenced the flow of stammered apologies and questions about his well-being. Violet eyes a little wet, Matthew stared at his former guardian, his lips trembling a bit against Arthur's index finger.

"My dear boy." The nation said, green eyes soft. "I was the British bloody Empire. It's going to take more than a silly little tumble to bring me down." Never mind that it actually bloody well hurt but it wasn't as though he was going to mention that when the other nation looked like he was about to start crying. He restrained the urge to trace the other's lower lip with the pad of his finger and instead withdrew his hand. "Savvy?"

Matthew gave a hysterical little giggle, nodding a bit contritely. Then, he rocked back, before pulling Arthur up by their joined hands. With a huff (not that he was out of breath, mind you, he just didn't have the boundless energy that Matthew and some of the other younger nations had), the former Empire dusted off his knees and thighs and adjusted his hood so his reddish cheeks could not be seen.

His former charge had a similar flush across the bridge of his nose and his chest was rising and falling rather quickly. Then, the blond, tousling his curling locks, asked, "Do you think you can keep going?" He was looking down the road, body half twisted away from Arthur.

The Englishman made an indignant noise, reaching over and grasping the other's collar, pretending that the surprised squeak and sudden revealed expanse of milky skin didn't cause an unfurling of heat low in his stomach.

"Listen here, pet." He said lowly, almost relishing the way Matthew's violet eyes widened at the drop in his tone. "I'm not too old to take a belt to your arse and I'm not too old to run a few kilometers."

Just because he was attracted to Matthew, doesn't mean he was about to let the younger man coddle him like he was a chit.

Though if Matthew wanted to coddle him by feeding him breakfast in bed, naked and preferably in his lap, well, Arthur wasn't about to stop the boy.

_

* * *

Tell him now. Tell him now. Tell him now you hoser!_

Matthew could only stare, mouth a little open, as Arthur continued to scold him, in the middle of the sidewalk, the morning still misty and light. But all he could think about was if that was what Arthur's bedroom voice sounded like. So instead he concentrated on the other's furry eyebrows, but if anything he was even _more_ turned on and the last thing he needed was a boner (especially wearing these shorts which, as Francis and Alfred had both agreed last night after pretending to go to sleep when they decided that he ask Arthur to go jogging, complemented his ass beautifully).

Truthfully, he decided against waking up Arthur because he knew full well the man was an absolute nightmare in the morning without a cup of tea. It was only luck that Arthur had managed to catch him (because he had decided to just jog by himself and work his confidence up to his moment of confession).

When they left, he had been at a loss of how to broach the subject of his attraction ("love" the voice that sounded too much like Alfred suggested helpfully, before adding "or if you don't want to say that, just tell him how hard you want him to fu—" "Shut up." Matthew mentally snarled, imagining him locking that voice in a meat locker.). And, when they started jogging, Matthew knew Arthur was in a foul mood. So they had jogged in silence.

And when Arthur fell, Matthew had freaked out because he needed Arthur in a pleasant mood for later and if Arthur became upset, then he'd be less inclined to let him down gently. Because it didn't matter how Arthur _looked _at him, it mattered what Arthur would _do_ and _say_. Also, he didn't want what progress he had made since he started pursuing the Englishman to be lost in one second.

Arthur was really hot when he was pissed.

Matthew blinked rapidly, slowly coming back to reality where Arthur was now shaking him and repeating "Matthew" over and over.

"How the hell do you do that?" The green-eyed man asked, looking concerned and put out. Both of his hands gripped Matthew's collar as he peered up into indigo eyes. "Blimey, poppet. You just started to shimmer and fade. That's rather worrisome." He frowned, thinking briefly. "And impolite. Listen when I'm berating you."

"Sorry Arthur. It happens." Matthew responded, lips twitching upwards even as he tried to sound apologetic. "Please, berate away."

With a snort, Arthur pushed him away, idly smoothing away the creases in his shirt. "Ought to take you over my knee. Impertinent sod." But he smiled lightly, clasping Matthew's nape. "Shall we?" He gestured in front of them. "Another kilometer, yes?"

"Arthur, we're running ten."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"How many have we…?"

"Two."

Arthur stared at him, eyes narrowed. "Bugger off." He said slowly. "You run ten?"

"Every other day." Matthew laughed sheepishly. "Keeps me from going…too soft." He admitted, patting his stomach nervously. "Since its kind of hard to put aside time to play hockey or lacrosse and when I'm with the provinces, they all want me on their team and no one wants me to play on the team with either Quebec or Ontario and well, they can't be on a team together after The Incident and so usually I just sit out and make them brownies."

Arthur blinked, digesting the information as Matthew blushed and pointedly looked down at his scuffed sneakers.

When his former guardian said nothing, Matthew added, "I can make really good maple brownies."

Great, now all Arthur could think about was Matthew in a frilly apron licking brownie batter off his finger and moaning. Frankly, the thought of Matthew soft with a little bit of pudge was rather nice too.

Dear heavens, he was turning into a randy pervert.

He was turning into Francis.

Seeing Arthur's face turn green, Matthew quickly backpedaled. "Oh! But I can make other things if you don't like maple brownies—"

Arthur grabbed the other by his shoulders, his head hanging down so the other wouldn't see his aroused blush. "Matthew." He said in a strangled voice. "You're making me hungry."

He didn't mention that Matthew was making him hungry for _him_ but, well, that probably wouldn't be the most appropriate thing to say.

Matthew blinked in bemusement. "Well." He started slowly. "We could jog to Timmies?" When he received a blank look, he sighed. "Tim Hortons. They have breakfast foods." At the expectant look he received, he added, "And probably tea."

"Smashing."

* * *

"We can pick up some stuff for Alfred and Francis on the way out." Matthew said brightly, his errant curl bouncing as he began to set down the breakfast items on the table of the booth they had procured. Arthur, who had finally removed his hood upon entering the establishment, took the items from his former colony's hands.

"I just got a bunch of breakfast sandwiches." He explained, a bit shyly. "I'll get napkins too." He placed Arthur's tea in front of him with a small smile.

Arthur, taking a quick sip of the tea and finding it satisfactory (and even if it wasn't, he'd probably keep his mouth shut lest he offend Matthew), waited for the blond to return and amused himself by watching the citizens in the packed restaurant bustle and chat loudly. When Matthew returned and slid into his side of the booth, the Englishman grabbed his hand, earning a surprised look from the other.

"Arthur?" Matthew asked, wondering what had prompted this display of touching from the other.

"I don't tell you this enough, lad, but I'm proud of you." Arthur said softly, lips curved into a smile. "The first time I was here, there wasn't much. It seemed rather unruly to me, even though I knew you would be safer here." He squeezed the other's hand lightly. "Look at what you and your people have done."

Matthew was holding his breath, blinking a little rapidly as the other continued to quietly share.

"You have never given me reason to worry. I know I have not always been there for you, but you are one of the things of which I am most proud." And with one final squeeze, he sat back and began to unwrap a sandwich. "Oh, this has bacon. How lovely."

"I want you." Matthew blurted out, heart pounding and words driven by the warmth of Arthur's words. "I want you and I really, really like you and I don't know if its love, but I've been thinking about you nonstop for so long and now you say all of these really nice things and all I want to do is kiss you."

Arthur's fingers went lax as he stared at Matthew, the sandwich dropping to the table. Green eyes, he just looked at his former colony as time seemed to stand still, the noise in the background blending into a buzz and all he could see was Matthew looking at him with that face that begged him to do something and to say something—an expression that was so hopeful and loving and Arthur almost couldn't breathe because, by the Queen, Matthew was breathtaking.

Of course, Matthew, stuck in the feeling of al his emotions coming to head and the fact that his head was hurting and so was his chest and he felt like he was going to be sick, felt like it was taking forever and Arthur was just staring at him in disbelief.

And his stomach sank in horror.

"I'm so _sorry._" He gasped, violet eyes blinking faster now and throat closing up. "I've ruined—I'm…I'm…just so sorry." Matthew scrambled out of the booth. "I'm such an idiot, you were…you were just being nice, weren't you? _Tabernak._" He stepped back, shaking his head, curl bobbing wildly.

And now Arthur got his ass into gear.

"Matthew!" He started to move, one arm outreached towards the shaking blond.

But Matthew ran.

* * *

"Mattie said there would be a maple syrup market and he was right!" Alfred crowed, weaving in and out of the stalls, examining the goods.

Francis followed at a more leisurely pace, amused by the blond's hyperactivity. Truthfully, the blond had woken up when Kumajirou crawled next to him to nudge him with his nose because Alfred was in his spot on the couch.

"Move." The bear had ordered.

Alfred had cracked open one eye and shrieked bloody murder because the bear still had fish hanging in his canines and it didn't look like fish. So, of course, when Alfred ran looking for Matthew and didn't find him or Arthur, the superpower had practically tackled Francis, wailing about killer bears and "godless killing machines" so the Frenchman (who had been having a vivid dream about Spain and bananas) decided that it'd be best to get the boy out of the house before he chopped off his head.

"_Mon dieu._" He murmured, already lighting a cigarette and inhaling deeply. "Even though I would be an excellent father, its good I cannot have children."

Then he thought of a wavy-haired blond toddler sobbing as he walked away and a wavy-haired blond teenager throwing an English dictionary at his head and screaming "Its still me. I'm still me!" and he sighed deeply, azure eyes tired. "On second thought, perhaps it is just better I am not a father."

But Alfred had done so much already for Matthew and if babysitting the zealous blond a little longer would help his darling, then so be it.

"If I could deal with revolutions and terror, I can deal with him." He said firmly, taking another deep drag of his cigarette. "Its not like he actively goes out of his way to make my life difficult."

(Its not so much that Francis disliked Alfred, its just that it was always difficult to spend prolonged periods of time with the blond before the urge to strangle him overcame the urge to bed him. How Matthew managed this long was amazing and the boy was a saint.)

He walked briskly, stepping up next to the blond who was paying a vendor for a jug of maple syrup.

"Got something special planned for me, _chou_?" the European cooed, wrapping an arm around the younger nation.

Alfred laughed. "Of course not." He said bluntly, shrugging off the arm, turning on his heel and walking away with the jug in hand.

Even the vendor winced so Francis, a little stung, turned to him and said, "He's not my type anyways." Then, catching up to the other, he asked curiously, "What is that for?"

"Matthew is out of syrup." Alfred shrugged, blue eyes earnest. "He's kind of picky about what syrup he gets—did you know he once smacked me with a plate and then scolded me about using fake syrup? Aunt Jemima is _not_ fake syrup, damn it. It's awesome. Anyways, Matthew would probably be upset if there's no syrup so I thought I'd save the day." The superpower grinned, shrugging a little. "Least I can do, ya know?"

"You've done a lot for him." Francis reminded gently.

Alfred didn't slow in his steps, but his smile became a little softer, eyes flicking upwards thoughtfully. "I've also done a lot to him, dude. We fight and don't speak for years. I make it hard for him—my less than heroic moments, I guess. But, he keeps me around and I need him." He turned his head towards Francis. "We're bros."

Francis merely smiled. He wanted to say, "you're a better brother than you give yourself credit".

But he figured Alfred probably knew (even if he didn't believe it). And his ego didn't need the boost.

"Matthew!" a distinctly British voice shouted desperately.

Both blonds turned at the shout, catching sight of a blur of red dash towards Parliament with a grey blur following close behind.

Francis and Alfred stared.

"I'm going to murder him." Alfred said suddenly, blue eyes narrowed, his expression darkening. He shoved the jug of syrup at Francis, rolling up the sleeves of his Ryerson sweatshirt (that he had stolen from Matthew) and storming off. "And if Matthew is crying, I'm going to make Arthur wish he were dead—and no, not torture, because I don't do that but its going to be bad. I can't even make Mattie cry so what gives that limey bastard the right?"

Francis, worry already sparking, didn't know if he should try to calm down the blond (because maybe Alfred was jumping to conclusions) but, then again, Matthew was clearly running away from Arthur.

"We should at least see what's going on." He said loudly, expression troubled. "Maybe, this needs to happen."

Alfred didn't respond, but he nodded curtly showing he had heard.

* * *

"Matthew! Stop this instant! Please?" Arthur pleaded, pumping his legs as fast as he could to catch up with the fleeing nation. There was a stitch in his side and he was gasping for breath, but he kept pushing himself because Matthew seemed to be moving faster and, oh bollocks, he's really done it now.

"Of all the stupid, inconsiderate…I'm such wanker…idiot…git…" Arthur snarled to himself, sweat dribbling down his face as he continued after his former colony into the maze of statues on Parliament Hill. He screeched to a halt, panting heavily as he looked around, sandy hair plastered to his forehead. He started walking, ignoring his creaking knees and screaming hamstrings.

He had to find Matthew.

"I've ruined everything." He muttered, wiping at his brow with the sleeve of the hooded sweatshirt. "Just because the declaration was surprising, didn't mean I had to sit there like a blooming deaf mute and why couldn't I just…" He made a frustrated noise when he couldn't find the Canadian.

Stopping in front of the monument of Sir Wilfrid Laurier, he pointed accusingly at the statue and hissed, "This is all your fault! You never liked me!"

* * *

"I know you taught me to be strong, but I couldn't!" Matthew whispered, kneeling in front of the statue of John A. MacDonald. "It was too much and I just wanted to get it over with and he…he said those things and my heart just started to ache and I want him so bad." He looked up at his former prime minister, violet eyes watery. "Do you think I started an international incident? I hope not. I don't think Stephen would be very pleased." He sighed. "He's not a bad guy…he's just not…_you._" He giggled, looking around at the statues. "Maybe one day I'll see a statue of him too."

He frowned, again then, feeling the hard ground under his knees. "I just love him. You understand. You always did." He murmured, hands flat on the ground. "Even when I didn't, you did." He sniffled, everything becoming too much. "And now I've fucked everything up because I put passion before reason." He laughed tearfully. "Pierre wouldn't be happy. But I couldn't help it, I don't even understand but I look at him, now, and I want more." Then, he made an odd choking nose, ducking his head and feeling hot tears slip down his cheeks. "B-but he doesn't!"

"You stupid boy." A voice said quietly and Matthew's head shot up and he looked over his shoulder.

Arthur stood there, chest heaving, face sweaty and flushed and green eyes sharp.

"Would I have run blindly through a city to chase just after any blond twit?" He asked coldly, stepping closer to Matthew.

Scrambling to his feet, Matthew quickly wiped at his face and stepped back, a little fearfully. "I'm so—"

"Quiet." Arthur ordered, pinning the other with his gaze. He closed the distance between them so that the blond was pressed up against the stone block of the monument. "One question. Are you and Alfred shagging, dating, or are together in any way?"

"He's my brother." Matthew whispered, breath catching in his throat, his voice trembling. "Never anything else."

"Good." The sandy-haired nation said decisively, green eyes flickering down to Matthew's parted lips. "Jolly good."

And then, closing the scant centimeters between them, Arthur kissed Matthew.

* * *

HAHAHAHAHAHAHA CLIFFHANGER. U MAD? -SHOT, BRICKED, NUKED, BEATEN WITH A HOCKEY STICK-

We're not done yet, sweeties. Who's up for an epilogue?


	15. Chapter 15

Third update in three days? I spoil you guys. Seriously. I should just go on hiatus because...I AM FINISHING MY LONGEST STORY EVER. OMG. -throws confetti and flails happily-

Also, what was with all the requests for pirate!sex? Seriously, I don't recall promising legit smut. I understand the unhappiness at the cliffhanger (I lol'd so hard -shot-) but sexytimes? -shakes head- You guys are perverts, but I love you anyways. Seriously, though, thank you everyone for sticking with this fic. I enjoyed writing it. Seriously, you guys are the reason I pushed through my writer's block just to finish this. Enjoy~

Warning: previous warnings apply, fluff

Pairing: UK/Can

Disclaimer: I suppose its good that I don't own Hetalia.

* * *

Francis smiled, peering around the base of a statue as he watched Arthur kiss Matthew.

"Finally." He murmured, azure eyes gentle as he watched the way Matthew, having been momentarily stunned, eagerly kissed back, arms coming to wrap around the Englishman's neck and tilting his head downwards.

Chancing a look at the superpower, the Frenchman noticed the other's pleased grin. All traces of fury had disappeared from his countenance and now the American was watching the scene with pride.

* * *

"I was so afraid I was imagining things." Arthur murmured, cradling Matthew's face in his hands. "I was so terrified of ruining this tenuous new relationship. It was so sudden and I never thought that you…of all people could really…"

"I sent you those flowers." Matthew whispered, eyes still bright. He licked his lips, taking a breath.

Arthur blinked, before breaking out into a soft smile. "Even if you hadn't, I would have still chosen you over some faceless admirer. Though knowing its you…" He stopped himself, clearing his throat awkwardly. "Just…jolly good, Matthew."

The younger nation laughed, coaxing the other back into a kiss.

* * *

"We did good, Frenchie." Alfred whispered brightly, blue eyes gleaming.

"Indeed." Francis murmured. "Come, let us—"

Suddenly, Alfred cut him off by wolf-whistling loudly, causing the pair to tear apart. Arthur twisted around, green eyes wide before they narrowed in anger as Alfred stepped out from behind the monument. Matthew's face ignited, a rosy flush across his cheeks and his indigo eyes were shocked.

Both nations' lips were bruised and wet and Alfred's shit-eating grin widened.

"About damn time." He crowed, hands settling on his hips as he regarded the pair. "Don't mind me, either." Alfred added. "I'm just enjoying the fruits of my labor."

Next to him, Francis sighed heavily. "It was a group effort."

"Led by me."

"Not completely." Matthew and Arthur and Francis countered, before looking at each with surprise.

"Yeah, but Mattie came to me." Alfred pointed at himself. "So, it might as well—"

"_Tais-toi, cher._" Francis said smoothly, slamming his hand over Alfred's mouth. Then, looking at the other two, he cooed. "You two are so cute."

"Belt up." Arthur snapped, hand immediately taking hold of Matthew's. "You two have no respect for a man's privacy. Following us, being generally shifty and not even letting us have our moment and…" He trailed off, having taken a look at Matthew.

The Canadian was smiling softly, staring at their connected hands with a faint blush. He looked up slowly. "We do owe them." He said gently, squeezing Arthur's hand.

The Englishman, grudgingly accepting, merely harrumphed and looked away. "I suppose." He conceded, a matching blush rising high on his cheeks.

"Anyways." Alfred said, having shoved off Francis's hand. "Don't know where _that's_ been." He said, nose scrunched up. "Grody." He grinned, then, addressing Arthur and Matthew. "So…since you guys are probably going to go back and fuck—"

"Don't say it so crudely!"

"Sorry, sorry Iggy. I mean, bang like rabbits—"

"Alfred."

"Hahaha, sorry Matt, go back and make sweet, sweet love. Better? Okay, so, since we having no interest in hearing squeaking bed springs and moans—" Here Alfred paused, giving Francis a sidelong glance. "Well, at least _I_ don't. Take this jug of syrup back with you? I saw this giant moose head somewhere that I want to take back to D.C."

Matthew blinked at his brother. "Sure?" He said, earning a cheer from Alfred who then shoved the jug of syrup at Arthur (who just rolled his eyes). But before Alfred could prance off, Matthew grabbed the back of his sweatshirt and pulled him into a hug.

"Thanks Al." He whispered, hugging his brother tightly.

"What're brothers for?" Alfred replied, taking a moment to bask in his brother's embrace (it had been a while…) before patting him on the back lightly and pulling away. "Make me proud." The older nation said with a wink.

Then, pointing at Arthur, he said with a dark look, "I own many, many guns." Then, expression brightening, he reached into his pocket, withdrew his wallet and flicked a small foil package at the Englishman. "Be safe, you crazy kids." He ordered before turning on his heel and sauntering off. "Come on, Francis. I'm hungry."

"That is no surprise." Francis responded, pulling away from his (innocent) hug with Matthew. "You are happy with him, _petit_?" He asked, pointing at Arthur who was looking at the package with eyebrows furrowed. "Eyebrows and all?"

"_Oui._" Matthew laughed. Then, violet eyes bright, he added. "Papa."

Francis blinked before his entire countenance seemed to brighten and, taking a deep breath, he smiled beatifically and exclaimed, "Come to papa, _mon petit—"_

"Calm down." Arthur ordered, having grabbed the Frenchman by the back of his shirt before he could touch Matthew. He was scowling. "He called you 'papa', that's it. Don't push your luck, frog."

"Yeah." Alfred chuckled from where he had dashed back after hearing the blond's exclamation. "You're still not allowed in Quebec."

"It's a start." Francis defended sulkily. Then, with a final smile at Matthew, he said, "We will talk?"

Matthew nodded.

As he watched the pair of nations walk away, Arthur suddenly asked the question he had shoved to the back of his mind.

"Can you really tuck your ankles behind your head?"

"Want to find out?" Matthew asked innocently, despite the distinctly French gleam in his eyes.

* * *

The pair tumbled into Matthew's room in a breathless, red-faced heap on the carpet.

"Bloody hell." Arthur swore, pushing himself up onto his elbows and off of Matthew. "You've got me acting like a teenager, pet."

"I don't mind." Matthew said with a meek grin. He reached up, tangling his fingers in short, sandy hair. "You cannot imagine how much I could care less." He arched up against Arthur before he wrinkled his nose and turned his head away. "Sorry. You don't exactly smell like your prized roses right now, Arthur."

Arthur made an indignant noise, glaring down at Matthew who just giggled and turned his face into the beige carpeting. "Because I was chasing you, you twit." He scolded. "Cheeky monkey." Then, with a wicked grin, he dropped down and began to kiss the other's bared neck. "My brilliant, beautiful, precious…cheeky little brat." He whispered against the other's skin. He ran his hands up the other's sides, feeling the tremble of ribs beneath Matthew's shirt. "Want to fall asleep next to you, wake up with you." He mouthed at the other's pulse point. "Want to touch you, treat you special…you're worth more than a shag, love…" He lifted his head up, caressing the other's cheek with his thumb. "I'm not a good man, but I won't ever make you cry again Matthew if I can help it."

Matthew sniffled, indigo eyes damp. "You're such a sap." He joked, voice thick with emotion.

"Who?"

Both nations, muffling curses, seized up, turning to look at Kumajirou who was watching them innocently from the bed.

"Kumazuma." Matthew scolded from under Arthur (who seemed to be in shock). "This is private time. Go."

The polar seemed to roll his eyes, tumbling off the bed and lumbering towards the door that was open a crack. Before leaving, the bear clearly grumbled, "About time."

_

* * *

A few months later_

"And this is why I'm right, why Russia is a creep, and why you need to back me up on this broski." Alfred finished.

"I…I really don't know how people can confuse us." Matthew said quietly. "You're an idiot."

"Sticks and stones, Mattie. Sticks and stones. So, are you in or are you in? Are you ready to be on my level? Are you ready to be a boss? Are you…even listening to me?" Alfred said blandly with a frown when he noticed that Matthew had stopped walking a few steps behind him. "This is so not boss, dude." Then, with a sigh, he added, "What's so interesting…nice hat, Iggy."

"Thank ye." Arthur said with a smirk.

The Englishman was leaning against the conference room door, left leg in front of him with his right boot tucked on the other side of his left. Lean, black-trouser clad legs lead up from polished black boots to a snow-white shirt with a green stone at the collar. He was relaxed, dressed in a scarlet waistcoat with gold brocade, with his arms crossed loosely. A huge tri-corner hat with a large, fluffy white feather completed the look.

" 'ello, love." The Englishman said lowly, his accent coarse and tone lilting. Slowly, he straightened and regarded Matthew, head tilted and feather trailing down.

"Arthur." Matthew said quietly, an aroused blush blossoming in his cheeks.

"Captain Kirkland." The man correction, emerald eyes gleaming. "You'd do well to remember it, pet, lest ye want to walk the plank." Then, sauntering closer, one hand on his scabbard, he added, "But if ye behave and…please me, I would be more inclined to overlook the slip."

Matthew nodded mutely, indigo eyes wide.

"Wow. I can't believe I am watching your foreplay." Alfred said loudly, pacific blue eyes wide and mouth twisted in disgust. "I am going to go pour acid into my eyes now."

"Have fun, landlubber." Arthur said dismissively, shooing the superpower away but not breaking gaze with Matthew.

* * *

They barely manage to find an abandoned conference room. Falling against the polished wood of the long table, Matthew leans back on his elbows, watching with hazy eyes as Arthur locks the huge doors and barricades the handles with his cutlass.

When the former Empire turns to face the other nation, his emerald eyes widen minutely at the sight of Matthew panting softly against the table, mulberry eyes dark with lust and excitement, his erection straining against the front of his trousers.

He had no idea Matthew would be so turned on. He had initially planned this as a surprise, but seeing the other practically cling to him as they stumbled into the empty room made Arthur decide that he should indulge this particular kink more often.

"On yer knees, boy." He orders, voice silky and, to his pleasure, Matthew slides bonelessly to the ground, eyes wide. With a dark smile, he saunters forward and stops just in front of the nation. Kneeling down, he forces Matthew to meet his gaze with grasping his chin with gloved hands. "Such a pretty little thing." He murmurs, relishing the way the younger nation shudders and seems to lean closer. He brushes a thumb against the corner of his mouth, before slipping the digit between plump lips.

Matthew almost moans at the taste of leather, heat pooling between his legs and gathering in his cheeks. His tongue brushes against the tip of the digit.

"Since you're such a well-behaved pet, I'll give ye a choice." Arthur continued quietly, removing his thumb and instead brushing his hand over the other's hair, "Submit or—"

"Just fuck me." Matthew interrupts, cheeks scarlet. "I don't care if its on the carpet or the table or even against the window, I just need you so badly right now Captain."

A little thrown off, Arthur just blinks at his lover, hand stilling on his wavy curls. Not that he's complaining at the turn of events, but he had expected a little more build-up to the main event.

"I have imagined you dressed as a pirate, taking me every which way over every single surface imaginable even before we got together." Matthew admitted.

Breaking character, the Englishman asked, a bit incredulous and a tad hurt by the secrecy, "Good heavens, lad, why didn't you say anything?"

Here Matthew looked embarrassed. "Well…I didn't know how." He mumbled. "And I just had these…perverted thoughts."

"Oh?" Arthur perked up…in more than one way.

Matthew looked up at him, a naughty glint in his eye. "You would bend me over the portside wall."

"I would?"

"And you'd take me on the main deck." The blond moved closer, wrapping his arms around Arthur. "And you'd make me beg and scream and want you to do such filthy things to me." Breathing a bit labored, he added, "You'd call me 'wench' and fuck me so hard." He trembled and Arthur wrapped his arms around his narrow waist. "I was too nervous to tell you."

Suddenly, Matthew found himself lifted up and lying flat on the conference table, Arthur looming above him with a feral grin.

"Should punish you for hiding this from me, poppet." He said lowly, emerald eyes predatory. He gripped Matthew's legs that were dangling off the table and pulled him closer so his pelvis was at the edge.

Matthew swallowed roughly, albeit a bit nervously.

* * *

"I told you they were busy." Prime Minister Harper said matter-of-factly.

Prime Minister Cameron opened his mouth to respond, but when a loud moan reverberated from inside the room, he shut his mouth and fidgeted. "You…seem unsurprised." He said in a strangled voice, shaking his head.

"I have walked in on them enough to be desensitized." Harper said calmly, doing a good job of not hearing his nation beg Arthur to go "harder, damn it, I'm not made of glass".

"But…aren't they technically…?"

"Try not to think about it." Harper said with a shake of his head.

* * *

"Did you hear something?" Matthew asked breathlessly, golden curls sticking to his flushed cheeks. "I could've sworn I heard Stephen—" He gasped as Arthur pulled out and thrust back in, striking his prostrate dead on.

"I am doing a spectacular job of shagging you." Arthur chided, sandy hair sticking up in all directions from Matthew running his fingers through it. "Please pay attention, love." His fingers slipped briefly against the Canadian's hips before he tightened his grip, the early shadow of bruising blossoming under his fingertips.

Matthew laughed, pulling Arthur closer by wrapping his legs tighter around the nation, his heels crossing at the small of his back. Matthew, having been divested off his suit early on, was lying flat on the table, sweat pooling between his skin and the polished wood. "Is the dread Captain Kirkland jealous?" He teased, running his hands down his bare chest to stroke his own weeping member slowly. Thumb brushing over the slit of his weeping cock, Matthew looked up at Arthur with eyes half-mast.

"Minx." Arthur growled, leaning down and nipping at Matthew's lips, eventually dragging his lips down the other's pale neck and chest, suckling and pressing kisses until the milky skin turned pink under his ministrations. He slid his hands up the other's side, resuming his shallow thrusting.

Matthew whined, bucking his hips and trying to encourage the other to speed up. But Arthur merely smirked, busying himself with pinching the other's nipples roughly, pebbling them between his fingertips. Matthew threw his head back, arching his back in frustration.

Arthur watched him, green eyes dark and half-hooded. When Matthew gave him a frustrated look, violet eyes swirling and depthless, he groaned, pulling Matthew up and back. The Canadian made a displeased noise when the other slipped out of him.

"Damn it, Arthur." He scowled, unsatisfied, nose crinkling. "You're the worst pirate ever."

"Stop your whingeing." The Englishman scolded. His trousers were down to mid-thigh in his earlier rush and now he took his time to remove them before tackling his billowing white shirt. When he looked up, he said, "There, my sweet rose. This will be more comfortable…" He trailed off, mouth dry when he saw Matthew.

The blond, on his knees now, had one long arm behind him, spindly fingers disappearing into his still loose hole. The boy, eyelashes fluttering, was tugging at his erection as he fucked himself on his own fingers, grinding down on them and panting "ah ah ah".

When Matthew saw that he was watching, the blond, thighs trembling, smiled at him. "Are you just going to stand there?" He rolled his hips, grinding down on his invasive fingers. Violet eyes locked with smoldering emerald pools. "Because I'd much rather ride you."

* * *

"I didn't think Artie had such stamina." Prussia wolf-whistled. "Damn, Birdie is getting it hard. Hungary is going to be so jealous when she hears about this."

"Just try not to bleed on the carpet when she beats you for not recording it." Germany said, cheeks pink. "Now, can we please go get lunch? We've been standing here for ten minutes."

"Don't tell me you're not turned on."

Germany gave his brother a sharp look.

* * *

"I'm….s-so close." Matthew choked out, thighs shaking and sweat gathering at the small of his back as he lifted himself off Arthur and grinding back down, mewling as the other filled him with each thrust. "Arthur…"

The Englishman, sitting in one of the large swivel conference seats, groaned, hands resting on the other's waist as he guided the blond. Matthew, picking up the pace, his movements becoming more hurried and rough, pressed against Arthur, kissing the other. Arthur, one hand reaching back, fingers brushing against the other's hole, teasing the stretching ring of muscle even as his hips rose up to meet Matthew. Matthew nearly sobbed when Arthur began to pump his erection at the same time, pausing every so often to press against the weeping head.

The Canadian arched against him, leaving messy kisses against his neck, his cheek sliding against Arthur's and the Englishman could hear him panting and feel his warm breath against his skin.

"Come for me, darling." Arthur whispered, stroking Matthew faster. "Let me hear you."

Matthew doesn't last much longer after that. With a soft wail, the blond shoves his self down and is pushed over the edge, his climax warm and wet on Arthur's fingers and his stomach. With a groan, Arthur grasps the other's waist and lifts the slightly dazed nation up and back down, seeking out his own orgasm. With a choked curse and eyes screwed shut, the Englishman holds the other nation down against him, his balls pressed against his rear, his member grinding against the other's prostrate. Matthew gasps softly, slumping against Arthur as the other rides out his climax.

They sit there, entwined and sweaty, for a moment, regaining their breaths. Matthew is the first to move, turning his neck so he can bump his nose against the other's neck, damp skin against damp skin. Softly kissing the other's neck, tongue flicking out against the puckered scar against the tendon, the Canadian shifts and Arthur doesn't now whether to wince or laugh at the squelching noise that interrupts the silence of the room. But, he slips out of Matthew and holds the blond against him, soothingly kneading the other's back and upper thighs.

"Can we do that again?" Matthew asks quietly.

"As soon as I get my second wind." Arthur laughs, still out of breath.

"I meant the pirate thing." A pause. "Though I could go another round."

"Poppet, I'll gladly wear that ridiculous hat and even commandeer a ship if you react like that every time."

Matthew chuckled, leaning back to gift Arthur with a brilliant smile. The Englishman, eyes soft, reached up and brushed the other's cheek with the back of his hand. The younger nation leaned into his caress.

"Sweet delight." He murmured. "Eternity in your eyes and lips."

"You…" The blond shook his head, eyes bright and mischievous. "How many others have you charmed with Shakespeare?"

"Only the ones that mattered." Arthur gave the nation a lopsided grin. "And yes, I am a sap but its all your fault you know. You have me writing sonnets and ballads and indulging in other frivolous activities."

"As long as you don't blame me for your love of needlepoint." Matthew retorted.

"Such cheek." Arthur shook his head, eyes betraying his scolding tone. "Perhaps, ye need another lesson?" His tone darkened, accent sharpening.

Matthew shivered, squirming in the other's lap. "Perhaps."

* * *

ITS DONE. ITS DONE. ITS DONE. -feels empty all of a sudden-

Yes, so, before people get unhappy with me for the fail!sex, keep in mind, I wasn't planning on an actual sex scene. I was just gonna keep teasing you all with sexy daydreams. But, I decided to be nice. And I purposely broke up the sex with other scenes because I wasn't comfortable writing full-out sex and I don't actually think many people enjoy it. Or, at least they say they want it and then, like, no one wants it. -shrugs- Also I'm not good at it and it always feels awkward to me so I save that stuff for the kink meme. But, because I love you guys, I thought it wouldn't hurt. See what I do for you? -slapped-

Lol, but anyways. This is my longest story ever. Seriously. I can't believe I stuck with it. Thank you all for your support. I don't think I would've finished if it wasn't for the encouragement I received. So, thank you again for sticking with this crazy fic. You guys are great, understanding, and very sweet. I hope you enjoyed this final chapter (sap and all OTL).


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